Dulce Bellum Inexpertis
by Moriarty's Minion
Summary: Harry is taken after the devastating events of his 6th Year only to be returned years later to a familiar, if not darker, world. His quest for answers will lead him to a confrontation and a revelation that will rock the Wizarding World forever. AUpost HBP
1. Bridge Over Troubled Waters

_Dulce Bellum Inexpertis_  
Moriarty's Minion

**Chapter One:  
Bridge Over Troubled Water**

"_Dulce Bellum Inexpertis."  
"War is sweet to those who have never fought."_  
- Latin Phrase

It was the mere beginning of yet another summer for those who lived in England. For Muggles it was the beginning term of laziness and spending time with friends and family. For wizards it was just another day in a world of confusion, chaos and unavoidable fear. But for one boy, who was raised in the Muggle world but belonged in the magical one, it was the beginning of the end. The end of either good or evil, and what made this one lone boy even more special, is that in the end it would come down to him to decide which would reign supreme over this world. And it would prove to be a more difficult choice than anyone, including him, would ever suspect.

This unique boy was the only raven haired member of a quartet currently traveling down the road that led away from the train station that housed the famous Platform 9 ¾. In the drivers seat was stationed a man so beefy that even though his seat was pushed all the way back, his massive gut was overflowing onto the steering wheel. Beside him sat a pale and terribly thin woman who was nervously nipping at the cheaply painted fingernails of her right hand, every once in a while glancing to check on the two boys seated behind her.

The young boy on the right, who was quite obviously the obese man's son, was chewing on a white chocolate bar that had already begun to melt from the warmth of the midday sun. Beside him sat the heroic Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. His silent sighs could only be detected by the heavy falling of his chest, as it rose only to collapse after a pause that seemed to carry the sorrow of the entire world.

Harry was leaning his head against the window, praying to any and all deity's he could think of, for the sun to stop sending such massive waves of heat that seemed to fry the entire earth. It was after this single thought that his wish seemed to be granted, something that never seemed to happen to Harry Potter. The shade of some tree or building seemed to have blanketed the car from the pulsating heat. Harry smiled contentedly as the first sign of good fortune for his summer when he opened his eyes to look out across the bridge they were currently climbing and his heart sank.

It seemed that not only was his car covered in shade but most of the massive bridge as well. It was when he saw the end of the shade flicker that he made a horrifying connection.

_It isn't shade, it's a shadow, _he thought quickly_, and it's flapping!_

Harry rolled down his window frantically and leaned his head out to look directly up. Sure enough the creature that had cast the shadow was indeed flapping its wings from directly above them. However, what he had assumed might be a hippogriff or a thestral, was not even close to the creature that was currently hovering a hundred feet above them.

The hard green scales that bubbled across the sides of the animal looked more like stones and cast no reflection. The venomous yellow that lined the underbelly of the horrifying monster looked much fleshier than its sides and made an obvious display of the gigantic muscles that they were restraining. It was the wings more than razor sharp and still visible fang like teeth that made the beast's identity even more obvious. The lengthy wingspan could belong to no other creature, Muggle or magical, than that of a dragon. The fact that there was a black robed, white masked wizard riding the beast made it even more dangerous to Harry.

His aunt and cousin who had started at his sudden movement had frightened Vernon so much that he swerved before gaining control of the wheel enough to be able to start his rant against his nephew.

"BOY!" he blared at the top of his lungs, the sound echoing painfully in the small car, "GET YOUR HEAD BACK IN HERE! I'LL NOT HAVE YOUR HEAD BASHED IN BY ANOTHER CAR ONLY TO BE CURSED BY THOSE WRETCHED FREAKS FROM BACK AT THE STATION!"

Harry's head quickly darted back inside the car, not because of what his uncle had threatened, but because of the danger that was currently flying directly above them. If only his Uncle Vernon knew that those "freaks" as he called them were the least of their worries now…

"You have to drive faster!" Harry said, still dazed from the appearance of the massive creature above them.

"HOW DARE YOU!" his aunt hissed angrily, all nervousness forgotten, "SIT BACK AND SHUT UP! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU ORDERING YOUR UNCLE AROUND AND GETTING HIM FINED!"

Harry knew that this was getting him nowhere and was quickly thinking about the situation. His wand and his trunk were locked in the boot of the car along with any other magical devises that could aid in this situation. The sound of honking and swerving tires announced that Harry wasn't the only one to have spotted the terrifying sight.

"What is wrong with people today, it's like they've all gone mad!" his uncle exclaimed looking at the cars and the panicked people inside them.

"Or they saw a dragon," Harry mumbled to himself, still looking around the car for anything helpful. _If only Uncle Vernon hadn't forced me to let Hedwig fly back to Privet Drive before we left I could have sent a message to the Order!_ he thought, silently cursing his Aunt and Uncle's hatred of all magical things.

Harry saw no other alternative but to try again to get his Uncle to do something to get away from the dragon that was most obviously looking for them, before he was forced to take drastic measures.

"Uncle Vernon" Harry started, "please listen to me," an unexpected punch to the gut from his cousin prevented him from continuing.

"Mum told you to shut up, so SHUT UP!"

Harry groaned in response to the punch, clutching his stomach, but a deafening roar drowned it out. The bridge shook below them in response.

It appeared that they had now reached the top of the bridge unlike the other cars on the road that had slowed, and in some cases turned in the opposite direction going against traffic. This left Harry and his relatives alone and an easy target.

The angry emission from the dragon above had definitely gotten the attention of his family - Petunia was screaming her head off while Dudley had given away into a dead faint. Vernon, who hadn't spotted the dragon yet, became flustered and spoke with an edge of hysteria.

"PETUNIA!" he shrieked, shrugging his seat belt off to look for himself, "PETUNIA? What is it? What's out there? What's happening?"

Petunia's barely audible reply was drowned out by a second growl. Harry turned to look out the rear window and didn't even get a chance to say one word of warning before a torrent of fire attacked the road a few feet behind them. Gravel and pavement melted in an instant as tongues of flame tasted the air behind them. The force of the explosion caused the car to flip end over front and land on the hood of the car.

Harry was now lying flat against the ceiling, listening to the screeching sound of the metal scraping down the slant of the bridge slowly losing momentum. The car was still spinning during the descent causing broken glass from the crunched car and snapped off metal parts to swirl along with the passengers inside. Harry was still conscious enough to shield his eyes from the flying glass with his right hand. His left didn't seem to be moving from where his body was trapping it with its weight.

After what felt like hours of spinning, screaming and scrapping, but what was in reality only a few moments, the onslaught stopped. Although he was still trembling Harry cautiously opened his eyes and surveyed the damage. His right hand had several slits of glass that were embedded in it. His body ached and his leg was warped into an impossible angle, showing that it was undoubtedly broken. Harry wasn't sure it was a good or a bad thing that he couldn't feel the pain from the leg yet, but for the moment he was willing to except it as a plus. Slowly he pulled his left arm free from where it had jammed between the side door and the seats. His right hand felt for the seat buckle, and after the sound of a click, he fell onto the roof of the car. Slowly he laid himself on his back, attempting to stead the dizzy feeling in his body.

It was when he realized that he was the only one still audibly breathing that he glanced around to the other occupants of the car. Dudley was lying half sideways out of the hole where his door used to be located. His aunt was in a most uncomfortable looking ball with her knees on the torn headrest. Harry sighed silently seeing short movements in each of their chests. No matter how much Harry despised what remained of his blood family he had no wish for them to die, especially on his account.

He quickly realized his uncle was no longer in the car. The only evidence that the car had ever contained a front windshield was a handful of glass shards hanging onto the edge of the frame. Harry couldn't help but notice the red stains on each of the shards in front of the driver's seat. Although he held no love for the man, he was still his uncle and Harry began trying to lift himself up to find him.

The ground, and shortly after, the car shook as something _massive_ slammed onto the road behind them. Out of the splintered rear window Harry could see two gargantuan reptilian claws about halfway up the bridge. And then to his horror he saw a distinctly obese shape an equal distance between the wrecked car and the dragon.

_Uncle Vernon_, Harry thought frantically. He had to do something but with the car upside down there was no hope of getting anything from the trunk. He was alone here and completely defenseless.

Then a pair of feet landed gracefully on the bridges hard surface beside the dragons stiff legs, a black cloak trailing behind. As the figure continued its march towards the car, it didn't even pause before casually casting a brilliant emerald green curse at the collapsed form of Vernon Dursley. If there was any hope that his uncle was still alive it had been extinguished.

_Not again_, Harry thought to himself, his thoughts irrationally turning to Sirius and then to his recently deceased mentor.

The sound of flapping wings brought him back to reality. Harry looked around the car for a weapon, anything to defend himself with. He thought briefly about making a run for the keys and then to the locked trunk but upon further inspection he saw that the keys had broken off in the ignition and there was no way to open the boot.

What Harry did find though was a long, jagged piece of glass, which he quickly grabbed. Ignoring the cuts that he was getting for holding the shard he quickly raised it, poised to strike at the man who had walked to his side of the car. The knee of the man bent and soon Harry saw his assailants face and swung hard at it with the glass.

The man seemed to almost be expecting the attack and had a hand ready to grab Harry's arm. Instead of trying to grab the glass with his other hand, the attacker used it to haul Harry out of the car in one fluid motion.

After the initial shock of the man's actions, Harry quickly remembered that he was still armed with the glass and swung again. This time the assailant knocked the glass from Harry with his left hand and brought his right hand around to grab Harry throat hard and hold him against the side of the car. The shard instantly broke apart on the ground.

"Good Morning, Potter," said a familiarly cold voice.

Using his free hand the Death Eater ripped off his mask and grinned maliciously at Harry's struggling form.

"Fenrir!" gasped Harry.

This was the same werewolf that had bitten Remus Lupin when he was just a boy and condemned him to a life of horror. This was the same werewolf who had urged Draco Malfoy to kill Dumbledore. This was the same werewolf who inspired fear in all parents in the Wizarding world because his favorite victims were always children. This was the same werewolf that now held Harry's life in his hands.

"I'm so happy I could be the one to do this, Potter," he growled menacingly, "Poor little Remus will probably cry himself to death when he sees your body… once I'm done with you that is."

With the inhuman strength that accompanied his curse, he lifted Harry off the ground and threw him twenty feet. Harry landed harshly on his already injured leg and let out a small scream of pain. Harry felt himself being lifted by the throat again and opened his eyes to see Fenrir practically purring.

"I was the one who turned him" he boasted to Harry, "Did you know that? I heard he nearly committed suicide after the first full moon. Do you think he'll try to end it all again?"

Fenrir pushed Harry roughly against the side of the bridge and bent him backwards so that his upper body was hanging over the side.

"Well? Do you?" the werewolf taunted vindictively, "Do you think he'll just jump off the side of this very bridge? Stand where you are now, weeping and slobbering like a blustering child and then jump?"

Fenrir pulled Harry off the side of the bridge and flung him onto the ground at his feet before adding, "How does it feel to know it would be all your fault?"

Fenrir bent down to Harry's level and jerked his head up by the hair.

"Aw, poor little defenseless Harry Potter" mocked Fenrir. "No Order members to save you. No more parents to sacrifice themselves for you. No more godfathers to get in the way. No Dumbledore meddling where he doesn't belong. No, boy, it's just me and you now."

Fenrir reared his leg back and released it against Harry's side with all his strength, breaking at least two of Harry's ribs and catapulting his lithe body to the opposite side of the bridge. Harry landed on the overturned car and the momentum carried him onto the other side of the car. Coughing blood, Harry looked around for some kind of weapon to defend himself with. Prophecy or not, if Harry took any more blows from the werewolf he wouldn't be alive enough to fight anyone.

The all too familiar feeling of imminent death began to seep into his mind and replace the pain of the beating he was receiving.

Harry tried to look around the car in an effort to spot where the next attack might come from. Harry heard Fenrir shout in pure unadulterated fury and wondered what Harry had done to upset him further. Then Harry heard Fenrir shriek in pain and a torrent of blood flew over the top of his head and splattered the wall behind him.

_What the hell was he doing?_ Harry asked himself. He raised himself up on his good leg just enough to see over the car, his broken ribs protesting the movement.

Sure enough there was a second cloaked figure besides Fenrir Greyback on the bridge. At first Harry assumed that the newcomer was a second Death Eater, but that was before he saw the long blade slash out threateningly towards the werewolf. The Newcomer's face was hidden behind a black hood but Harry guessed from his solid but thin build that he was a man.

The werewolf lunged at the Newcomer, mouth open wide, and within seconds both men were struggling against each other on the ground. Fenrir used his inhuman strength to try to pin the Newcomer down. The Newcomer instead used his flexibility to worm his way out of each stronghold. Finally the werewolf managed to pin the Newcomer down successfully.

_Smack!_

Harry grimaced as he heard the hard collision of forehead against forehead reverberate across the bridge. The Newcomer had found himself on the receiving end of a superhuman head butt. Deep scarlet liquid stained the faces of both men but the Newcomer owned an expression of pain rather than the triumphant one on Fenrir's face.

"WHO ARE YOU?" screamed the werewolf maintaining his hold.

The Newcomer merely spit blood into the werewolf's face. Fenrir really didn't seem to mind as he used his tongue to wipe it off but still gave the man a second head butt for good measure.

"Are you with those Order freaks?" the werewolf questioned.

"I'm with Blockbuster Video, mutt!" responded the Newcomer defiantly.

The werewolf gave a third truly gruesome collision against the Newcomer's skull.

Harry could see the blood gushing from the pinned man's face. His nose broken, his forehead gushing, nearly collapsed, and bruises on his wrists from being restrained and yet the Newcomer never gave up. Harry felt a strange mix of admiration and pity for the Newcomer. He knew what it was like to be pinned down by a monster with no hope. But then again the Newcomer wasn't hopeless was he…

Harry had gone unnoticed by both parties during their struggle. If Harry moved quickly but quietly enough he could save the Newcomer and possibly himself. If only he had enough time to plan it out…

But unfortunately for Harry he did not have the time to plan out his rescue mission. The sight of the mangled flesh and the taste of the Newcomer's blood were too much for Fenrir to resist any longer. Harry saw the change in the werewolf's face seconds before it happened. The eyes of his would be killer turned a midnight black and the teeth lengthen into what looked like long pokers. A thick, pink, saliva-dripping tongue emerged from Fenrir's mouth and swept over his lips in anticipation of the kill.

Harry, forced to work on his adrenaline rush and instinct once again, charged unmercifully. But Harry was broken and made it only a few feet before collapsing from the pain in his chest and leg. While Harry had failed at his attempt to rush the werewolf, the Newcomer had taken full advantage of the distraction to Fenrir. Harry looked up in time to see the Newcomer embed both his thumbs into the werewolf's black eyes.

Fenrir screamed and pulled his arms up to protect his suddenly blinded eyes. The Newcomer rolled out from beneath his assailant and used his feet to kick the werewolf onto his back. Harry tried again to sit up but had done too much damage on his last attempt to walk and cried out at the pain.

Fenrir, enraged and blinded, used his superhuman hearing to sense where Harry was and began to charge wildly at him.

The werewolf was closing in quickly and Harry's first instinct was _RUN!_ but his bad leg gave out underneath him and Harry dropped to the ground like a stone. Struggling to get up again, Harry tried to push down on the cement and lift but his right hand landed on something not so flat. Harry looked down and saw that the Newcomer's sword had been tossed there during the earlier struggle. Harry turned back and saw Fenrir closing the gap between them…

"Do it!" shouted the Newcomer to him.

The sound of the Newcomer almost stopped Fenrir's onslaught but the animal inside him would not be denied its prey again. He continued his charge with renewed vigor. Grasping the handle, Harry leveled the blade out in front of him like a spear. Carried by his own momentum Fenrir was swiftly impaled through the chest by the sword, whose tip jettisoned out his back. A wave of fresh blood sprouted for a moment like a fountain of crimson. Harry felt Fenrir go instantly still and the feeling of warm liquid carried itself across his abdomen, soaking into his shirt.

The werewolf's dead weight put even more pressure on the swords handle, which was digging in a most uncomfortable way into Harry's stomach. The pain began to worsen as Harry struggled desperately to lift the weight of the dead body off of him. After three attempts Harry left the handle to be set against him painfully, taking comfort that it was crushing his stomach and not his already battered ribcage.

"Here let me help you with that, kid" said a gruff voice from above him.

Harry focused his attention on the hooded figure of the Newcomer. In, what Harry grumpily decided, was an effortless move the man lifted the werewolf's body and dropped it to the ground next to Harry. Harry sighed contentedly as the building pressure of the handle blade was finally gone.

"Thank you," said Harry, lifting a hand to shield his eyes from the mid-day sun.

"I believe that's my line," said the Newcomer with what Harry could have sworn was a smile. The man placed the bloodied sword into the sheath on his back.

"Who are you?" asked Harry as he tried to stand.

The Newcomer grabbed his elbow to steady him and Harry leaned against him for support.

"I think we'd better get you outta here, kid," said the Newcomer, looking to the sky. "Then maybe some questions."

"I'm not sure how fast I'll be able to go with my leg all torn up," replied Harry.

At the words "torn up" the Newcomer snapped his head down to look Harry over. "Shit!" he cried as he realized that Harry's shirt was stained with blood from the chest down. Instantly the Newcomer ripped the shirt apart down the front. At the sight of the bruising over his ribcage, the Newcomer slowed his attempt to ease the shirt off him.

"Hey!" cried Harry in alarm.

"If you've any open wounds and the werewolf's blood mixes with yours you could become infected."

Harry let the shirt fall to the pavement.

"That's a good lad," encouraged the Newcomer, "but we've still got to get out of here."

"Won't the Order be here soon?" asked Harry.

"Yes," said the Newcomer, "but it'll be worse if we're still here when they do."

An enormous growl ripped through the sky from somewhere over the horizon.

"The dragon?" asked Harry dumbly.

The Newcomer nodded as he scanned the sky around them, "Must have been given instructions to get you alone for the werewolf and then go terrorize the surrounding Muggles. Keep the Aurors busy and the like. We won't have much time before he comes back to check on the wolf."

"My Aunt and Cousin!" Harry cried out, the thought of danger bringing their presence coming back to him.

The Newcomer led Harry back to the wreckage that housed his only remaining blood family. Harry leaned heavily against the overturned car as his protector checked them over.

"Are they… alive?" asked Harry through the lump in his throat.

"Yes," answered the Newcomer while checking Petunia's pulse, "they both are."

"Thank Merlin," he whispered to himself. "We have to get them to St. Mungos."

The Newcomer shook his head, "That's for the Order to do when they get here."

Something the Newcomer had said earlier about the Order combined with his last statement fell into place in Harry's mind.

"You're not in the Order, are you?" he asked, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Clever," said the Newcomer.

"Then why'd you save me?" Harry asked.

"I'll explain later, Harry," he promised. "But right now we need to leave."

"Not without my family," Harry said stubbornly.

"They are neither my concern nor my priority, Harry."

Harry tried to move further away from the man but his body could barely support him with the help of the car to lean against.

"I see we'll have to do this the hard way, then," said the Newcomer sounding resigned.

A third roar from the Dragon was heard and this time they both could see the beast in the distance. Each massive wing was flapping hard in the air, bringing it ever closer to them.

"Grab onto me!"

Harry gaped at the man who had all but admitted he wouldn't be taking him back to the Order. "You must be joking!" he cried.

The Newcomer growled in aggravation and grabbed Harry around his bare midsection, this time not sparing caution for the injured ribs.

Harry cried out in surprise as an explosion of hot air and flames erupted around him. In his mind he knew that the car must have exploded as they were aparating away, and that he was alone in the world.

In the air, a bewildered and inconvenienced dragon let out a roar of outrage at having its prey evade it.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

At the same time, deep within the bowels of 12 Grimmauld Place, there was a disturbing argument brewing. In the converted basement/kitchen Arthur Weasley had constructed a large circular table so that every member of the Order of the Phoenix's Inner Circle could see each other equally. Mad-Eye Moody and Minerva McGonagall had just arrived with Bill Weasley and now the meeting was about to begin. Today's gathering would be a large factor on the fate of the Order of the Phoenix's future and who would decide it. With Dumbledore gone the position of leader was empty and desperately needed to be filled.

Despite her many protestations of taking over her oldest friends' position, Minerva McGonagall was still the majority of the Order members' choice for the new leader. Minerva had already said that running Hogwarts was going to be time consuming enough and absolutely refused to take the position. While many people thought this was a plausible explanation, others thought it was because she was still grieving over Albus Dumbledore's death.

Another candidate to take over Dumbledore's position was Mad-Eye Moody himself. While it was true that Mad-Eye had a great many roles in leadership positions in the past and he knew more about Wizarding war tactics than anyone else in the Order, many people just couldn't stand taking orders from the deranged and highly paranoid ex-Auror. The problem was people didn't trust his judgment enough to give their lives for him.

There were a few that thought Harry Potter might take over the Order of the Phoenix but there were too many members against that idea. In fact, the strongest voices against Harry's leadership were Molly and Arthur Weasley, who had known the boy the longest.

Remus Lupin's name was tossed into the air several times but shot down almost immediately. The fact was that three nights out of every month, and the weeks before and after, the Order's leader would be defenseless and dangerous to everyone around him. It would be too easy to cut off the "head" of the Order during those three days.

Several other names had been tossed around including Arthur Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt and the eldest Weasley boys. There were so many valid points for one candidate yet so many equally negative ones. There was simply no way to win. Dumbledore had had power and knowledge. He was a born leader, had proven himself against Grindelwald, and there was simply no way to replace him. But unfortunately they had to do it… today.

But with such indecision the Order felt they needed a new way to select a leader. Albus, ever the strategist, had planned for such an event.

"As Albus Dumbledore has instructed," started Minerva McGonagall, "I will lead today's meeting and then our newly chosen leader will take over for the next."

The assembled group nodded their heads and waited for the Headmistress to begin working on the ritual but to their surprise she did not. Instead she waited for every head in the room to be turned towards her before beginning again.

"I would like to begin today's meeting with a moment of reflective silence for Albus," she said personably to the group. "He gave so much to us that I feel it only right. If you could all please…"

The group took out their wands and raised them to their own temples and began to hum. When every eye in the room was closed Minerva crossed the room to the closed cabinet located there. With a quiet _Alohomora_ the doors clicked open and she retrieved the object she desired. Before the humming ended completely she had relocked the cabinet doors and placed the object in front of the person standing directly beside her, Arthur Weasley.

Arthur opened his eyes and slowly pulled the wand away from his temple. Attached to the tip of the wand was a cloud of pale floating liquid that he led into the bowl below him. Next he slid the bowl to his wife, who was next to him, and sat back down on his hard wooden seat. Slowly, one by one, every member of the Order extracted a memory and placed it lovingly into the pensieve that McGonagall had retrieved. Finally there was only Minerva McGonagall to go and she took the most time. Nearly ten minutes past before she found the perfect memory of the man she held as her closest friend and placed it in the pensieve.

When Minerva was done she silently moved the pensieve into the storage cabinet where it would sit until the fight of the Order of the Phoenix was done. Minerva remembered how nearly 16 years ago Albus and the surviving Order members had retrieved the pensieve and watched together the memories of the ones they had lost during the battles. It was, in the Wizarding world, the final act of closure for a group such as themselves. And here they were starting the fight all over again…

"Minerva?" called a tentative and sympathetic voice from her left.

Minerva McGonagall turned to look into the eyes of Nymphadora Tonks, her former pupil and current Auror. Minerva smiled and brought her thoughts back to the here and now, where they were needed most. She saw the concerned looks that her fellow members were giving her and knew she must have been in quiet thought for some time. Nodding her thanks to Tonks she stood and raised her wand.

A brilliant blue flame shot out of the tip and stopped in the dead center of the room. It began to twirl and move, completely oblivious to the air currents, and continued to do so. Minerva summoned the phoenix feather that Hagrid had found among Dumbledore's possessions and with a thought sent it shooting into the blue flame. An explosion like fireworks erupted; sparks flew everywhere but didn't burn what they touched. Instead, they were snapped back into the flame from wherever they landed, the flame turning a violently red color. Minerva nodded to her fellow Order members and those that wished to become a leader stood from their seats.

Arthur, Bill and Charlie Weasley practically stood as one. Mad-Eye was slower but was followed, out of respect, by Kingsley Shacklebolt. Minerva gave it another thirty seconds in case others needed to gather up their courage but when no one else stood she sat down. After another ten seconds Minerva stood again to indicate that she too wanted to be a leader. She barely noticed the mixture of pleased and shocked faces that she had chosen to do so, especially after she had denied vehemently to take over.

Those that were standing each used a single thought to create the next step of the ritual. A knife appeared in each candidate's hand and without hesitation they drew deep cuts into their left palms. The blood from each candidate flowed along an invisible track in the air directly from them to the red flame. When the last of the blood trails connected with the flame, it changed to a deep plum color.

A single thought was echoed through the minds of those standing: _Who will it be?_

Without warning, the purple flames lit the blood trails on fire which raced back to the candidates so quickly no one had time to defend themselves. The flames burned the blood trails to nothingness and then seeped into the open wound sealing each of them with a burning hiss. Those standing screamed in agony as the last of the flames seared and scarred their flesh with a painful burn.

Minerva looked down at her palms and saw the Roman numeral "I" branded onto her left hand where her wound had been. Inspired by an idea she grabbed Arthur Weasley's hand and confirmed her suspicions. She raced around the room looking at everyone's hand and when she finally came back to her seat the whole room was in uproar. Molly Weasley was magically wrapping her husbands' hand in a cloth. Bill and Charlie were muttering to each other about the possible interpretations of the new scars. Mad-Eye Moody looked rather appalled at having been "tricked" into some kind of Dark spell and was furiously telling his neighbors about it. Kingsley Shacklebolt was speaking to Tonks and Remus Lupin about his new "birthmark".

McGonagall cleared her throat once, and when people continued to talk she decided to use a tactic that she reserved for intolerably gossip filled first years. Using her thought magic she raised her wands and the sound of nails screeching down a chalkboard filled the room. Finally they turned to her and she stopped.

"Now that we've all settled down" she said sternly, "I believe it is time to discuss what's happened. If we could all sit, please."

"Why did it burn us, Minerva?" asked Arthur.

"Because it was Dark magic, Weasley!" cried Moody, "We've all been duped into it by _her_!"

"Oh shush, Mad-Eye!" rebuked Molly Weasley, "I've had enough of your complaining about Minerva! Honestly you act like such a _child_ sometimes!"

Minerva didn't think Molly Weasley, of all people, could ever make the word 'child' sound like such an insult. Mad-Eye sat back down on his chair and Minerva could have sworn she heard him mutter something about being "in cahoots."

"If all those who were candidates would please show their hands" she instructed as one by one they followed her lead.

"Your _left_ hand, Charlie!" whispered Molly Weasley across the table to her son.

Minerva almost smiled.

"As you can see we each have been given Roman numerals," she pointed out.

The group looked to each hand and nodded their agreement of the observation before Tonks found the flaw.

"But I thought the next in line was the only one to be marked."

Minerva smiled, "When using the regular ingredients, yes. But since we had a phoenix feather with us the results were more than expected."

"More?" asked Moody triumphantly, "I told you it was Dark magic. You never get the proper results when you use it!"

Minerva continued as if he hadn't interrupted, "Not only did it choose the next in line, but it gave us a line of succession. Thus if the current leader is under duress than the next in line will take over and we won't have to repeat the spell at a later date."

"Does it start at 'one' and go to 'six', or the other way around?" asked Charlie hesitantly.

"I'm not sure," confessed Minerva.

"Who has 'one' and who has 'six'?" asked Molly.

"I have 'one'," declared Minerva with a faint blush that only her closest neighbors could see.

"I have 'six'," said Charlie Weasley..

"That settles it," said Bill with a grin and a wink at his younger brother, "It goes one to six."

Charlie smacked him in the head.

Their antics had helped lightened the mood considerably.

"Very well then," said Arthur, "Minerva is our new Order leader. Agreed?"

A chorus of 'agreed' followed except for one noticeable voice.

"Alastor?" said Arthur archly.

"Fine," said Moody gruffly, after a pause in which every Order member had glared at him.

The mood was broken as the portrait that housed the long since deceased but never silenced mother of Sirius Black began to shriek bloody murder.

Footsteps pounded down the stairs leading to the meeting room, and the door was thrown open wide.

Ron Weasley stormed into the room, frantic and panting attempting to catch his breath. A distraught Hermione Granger followed shortly behind him.

"Ron?" asked Molly Weasley, the trepidation evident in her voice.

"It's Harry," he panted out, doubled over in pain.

The Order members were on their feet in seconds.

"Potter?" someone asked.

"What's happened?" another demanded.

Similar shouts and questions echoed in the small room. Ron looked around wildly trying to answer.

Finally Hermione Granger stepped out from behind her friend and choked out three words.

"They've taken him."

READ & REVIEW PLEASE!!!

**Author's Notes:**

The second chapter will be up within the next day or so but ONLY because this chapter acts more like a prologue than a full chapter. However, it is important to note that after this, all updates will occur on the first weekend of each month. The way this will work is that I will write a chapter ahead at all times, so I can always guarantee an update on time (or at least give plenty of notice if it's going too slowly AKA two months notice). Check my author's page for my progress. If I ever get ahead of the game writing-wise than I may post a chapter sooner than the one month mark.

I can guarantee that the more reviews I get (either positive or constructively negative) will make the writing easier. Hint, blatant hint.

This really should have been said first but special thanks to my wonderful beta Vira (niffler87 to all of you) for all her hard work, her support in this endless endeavor, and above all else, her ability to tear my work apart in a way that's impossible to hate her for. Thanks, Love.

The mention of Blockbuster by the Newcomer during the bridge scene is a tribute to the Bill Murray movie "The Man Who Knew Too Little." I recommend it to all of you. Just make me a mental promise that you'll watch the Hitchcock original "The Man Who Knew Too Much" first. They're both wonderful films, I promise.

As for fansites I'll be posting at... I am currently looking for another good site to post the story. If anyone has any suggestions on where to post I'd love to hear them. Fiction Alley and I have long since parted ways over some minor disagreements I have with their lack of "author friendliness". To their credit, I've heard from various sources that they've been working on these issues, so I may return to them at some point in the future. Maybe. Again, if anyone has any _other_ suggestions on where to post, I'd love to hear them.

I understand you have a lot of choices when it comes to reading experiences and I can only hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it ;)

Moriarty's Minion


	2. 7 Years Later

_Dulce Bellum Inexpertis_

Moriarty's Minion

**Chapter Two:**

**7 Years Later**

"_You have come into a hard world._

_I know of only one easy place in it, and that is the grave."_

- Henry Ward Beecher

_7 Years Later…_

CRACK!

Harry could not see, but he could feel and hear. There was the roar of the air rushing around him, and the screaming pain from his broken body. A symphony of sound that was his only indications that he was still alive, and he loathed them all. Didn't anyone care that he wanted to die? Did they not know he wanted an end to the pain that comprised his existence? Could they not see that his battered and broken body could take no more abuse?

And then, as if the sick answer to the questions in his mind, he hit the ground.

Despite the grass being overgrown and the moisture from the rain the day before, it was still not soft enough to cushion his fall.

The trio of painful sounds that he so hated was now joined by other noises, like the twisted orchestra had invited guest musicians to highlight the pain. First there was the sharp sound of snapping, not unlike that of a crocodile's jaws coming together around the body of its prey, as his the bones in his body cracked and splintered through his pale skin. Then the tempo lifted as old wounds reopened and stretched, literally ripping his skin apart. Finally the sound of blood from too many internal injuries could be heard as they made their way through every orifice, wound, and opening they could find.

What was his experience of pain just moments before had been nothing compared to the torture he was now enduring. All sense of time was lost as he lay, trying valiantly not to move for fear of the pain increasing. His thoughts were hazy and he felt slightly intoxicated. The blood was filling his lungs and suddenly his shallow breathing wasn't enough. On instinct, his body reached for air causing his body to shudder as he gasped and coughed for air. As his body shook, the pain became too severe and he let loose something too raw to be a scream and even more pitiful than a cry. And then it was over, and again he began to drown in his blood.

He mentally smiled at the thought that soon his oxygen-deprived brain would shut down and he would be at rest.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

On the edge of the field where he had landed, a cloaked man was hidden in the shadows of the towering bleachers. He had watched the boy tear the sky apart as he apparated. He watched as he descended towards the pitch. And now he watched as the boy struggled to live.

He could hear the search party of Aurors coming, but they were slow and uncertain if it had been friend or foe that had dared apparate to the pitch. The man didn't have much time, or rather the boy didn't. He had to act quickly, but he couldn't be detected either. It took his mind only a moment to calculate the likelihood of the Aurors continuing at their guarded pace. He didn't like the results; they had to find him before he was completely gone.

He was about to make his move when the boy gagged and let loose a terrible sound. The man winced, but mentally thanked Merlin that the noise had been loud enough to draw the attention of the Aurors. At first they paused to identify the origin of the sound, but now he could hear their legs moving faster through tall grass that had sprung up on the field.

They would find him now. They would save him.

After 7 years, Harry Potter, or rather what was left of him, would be discovered in the center of an abandoned Quidditch pitch by a group of unsuspecting Aurors. They would heal him, and the weary Wizarding World would welcome him home with open arms.

And then it would be time for the next move in the game.

_Until then, Harry_, he thought before disappearing into the darkness.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

"Did you hear that?" asked a voice to her right.

_Roberts_, Tonks thought to herself. He was young, too young in her opinion, but nowadays the Aurors weren't being picky about applicants. Beggars couldn't be choosers in a world of cowards.

"Of course, I heard it," she snapped. His shoulders flinched as he registered the irritation in her voice.

Tonks sighed, and made a mental note to say something supportive to him later. She wasn't handling this whole _promotion_ business well. Here she was finally in charge of her own team and they were littered with rookies. She spent more time reassuring them they were doing a good job than actually getting to shape them into serious Aurors.

"Sounded like a wounded animal," said Towne, the other rookie with her tonight. The young girl was popular within the department (more for her figure than her ability) but Tonks could at least sense potential from this one.

"Werewolf?" asked Roberts, nervously fidgeting with his wand.

"Does it look like there's a full moon tonight?" Tonks asked impatiently, her thoughts instinctively going to Remus. If there had been a full moon she'd be at home with him, and not treating the toddlers here to a night out on duty.

Roberts glanced up at the crescent moon gracing the night sky and mentally rebuked himself.

"Plus," added Towne, "Werewolf's can't apparate during the fool moon."

Tonks almost smiled at the girl… almost.

"Is that what we're calling it? Apparition?" asked Roberts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two rookies exchange a worried glance. She mentally sighed, remembering the massive surge of magical energy that had been detected in this area. So strong it had set off all of their detectors. Their best guess was that someone or rather _something_ had apparated with enough force to literally cross a continent. They had waited for signs of more magical use, anything that usually indicated an attack, but then it was just… silent.

Thus just Tonks and her two rookies on night duty were sent to scout out the situation. Everyone else on duty was needed in high priority areas in case this was a diversion, as was one of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's favorite ploys.

Tonks' thoughts were broken as something cried out into the night. It was loud and terrible to hear. She saw Roberts cross himself.

"What should we ---" began Roberts, but Tonks silenced him with a raised hand and a warning glance.

Silence… and then moaning noises.

"Someone's hurt." It wasn't a question.

Towne had already picked up speed and was now racing through the long, overgrown grass towards the entrance to the Quidditch pitch at the base of the hill.

"Towne!" cried Tonks, trying to keep her voice low enough so that it wouldn't carry across the ominous fields.

Tonks and Roberts trailed the young Auror into the pitch; Tonks keeping an eye out behind them in case of an ambush, Roberts watching their sides.

Tonks saw Towne's wand spinning in her palm. She grinned to herself as she recognized the _Point Me_ spell.

Then the girl was moving again… right into the center of the pitch. Tonks suddenly cared less about what was behind them, and more about what might be hiding in those towers. If there were any Death Eaters hidden above the three Aurors wouldn't stand a chance.

She heard a gasp, and turned her attention back to Towne. She had stopped running, and had apparently found what she was looking for. She looked for Roberts and couldn't see him for a moment. Then she spotted him a few feet from Towne, doubled over. He was throwing up. Towne didn't look much better off.

Tonks tried to prepare herself. Were they right? Had someone botched an attempt at Apparating? Did they splinch themselves?

In seconds she was between her two rookies, but she could see no bodies.

"Where?" she asked. Roberts pointed a few feet in front of them.

Tonks crept forward, wand outstretched, and peered into the circle of crushed grass in front of her. There was a dark liquid staining the whole area, bones protruding from seemingly everywhere. If this was a splinching, it was a kind she'd never even heard of. The worst thing she'd ever seen was an Obliviator putting a wooden door between in their abdomen while apparating home. _This_ was something different completely.

"Go!" she barked to Towne, "Get the Healers here now!"

"Let me," asked Roberts, still looking sick, "I can't stand to look again."

"No," she said, "I don't need another splinching on my hands tonight."

Without another word Towne disappeared with a _pop_.

"Go guard the entrance if you don't want to wait here."

With her rookies gone, Tonks bent down next to the figure and allowed her sympathies to come through. She could barely hear air being bumped in and out. She used her wand to perform a few basic healing spells and did her best to remove the liquid in his lungs. Her field training in healing only went so far, and she didn't want to do more harm than good.

"Hang in there," she whispered to the figure.

She had been sure that the figure had been unconscious, but it jerked at the sound of her voice.

"Are you…" she asked horrified, "…awake?"

The body didn't move again. She took what she assumed was a hand and put it between her own. She had heard that sometimes just sensing another presence could do miracles. At the touch the body quivered in what Tonks hoped was not pain. She refrained from touching him further.

_Just in case_, she thought.

The body shuddered and let out a wheeze before breath began to pump in and out of its lungs again. Tonks breathed silently in relief, suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath.

"It's going to be okay," she said, trying to sound more comforting and optimistic than she felt.

The body twitched and a hiss of air escaped the pale lips of her victim. It almost sounded like…

"Are you trying to speak?"

The head twisted in what could have been a nod. She leaned closer to him, suddenly noticing the heavy burns that had disfigured the right side of his face and most of the left. She noticed the jagged mark on his throat as if someone had tried to slash it open.

"I know it's painful," she said, "but can you try to tell me your name?"

The body twisted slightly, and an indecipherable moan of sounds erupted from the body's mouth.

"Don't try if it's too painful," she cautioned. _Where the hell were the Healers?_

The hand that held hers gripped a fraction stronger, which was probably all the beaten pulp of a person before her could muster. In what felt like an eternity, the top of the body turned towards her voice.

The left eye, which didn't have burn marks across the lids, lifted slowly to reveal an eye the color of bright emeralds.

Tonks jumped away from the body with a gasp.

_Sweet Merlin, no…_

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

As Tonks would hear later, her rookie Towne had burst into the medical wing of St. Mungos and began screaming her head off about getting some help. According to her boss, it was Tonks' fault for not telling her how to properly sound a medical emergency. Tonks would then reply that her rookie's method seemed to work more effectively… or at least she would say it in her head.

Towne had eventually returned with a Healer and two Assistant Healers, a coincidence which did not escape Tonks' attention. Apparently the Auror Corps wasn't the only organization that liked to torment their more experienced members with pairs of novices.

The Healer had spent almost half an hour stabilizing and readying the body for transport. It took the wands of both Assistant Healers to safely move the body to St. Mungos. The light was just appearing in the horizon when a full investigatory squadron arrived and roped off the scene with a series of protection spells. Even regular wizards would be diverted from this area unless they worked for the Ministry.

"What have we got, Tonks?"

Tonks smiled shakily at the Head of the Auror Department, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Besides the two having been close during training, Kinglsey and Tonks were still members of the Order of the Phoenix. Secrets had a nice way of bringing people together like that.

"Best we can tell," she answered, "is the worst case of splinching we've ever seen."

"Which would match with the readings we got from our magical detectors last night, correct?"

Tonks blinked in surprise, she hadn't expected him to be so well informed when he was just getting back on duty.

He laughed at her expression, "You always underestimate me, Nymphadora."

Tonks restrained herself from recoiling at the sound of her given name, but couldn't stop her hair from turning a violent blood red. Which, of course, only made Shacklebolt chuckle more. Apparently not everyone had the same aversion to promotion as she did.

"What about the location of the apparation?" he asked, eyeing the smashing in center of the pitch. Tonks sighed as her friend and boss began his customary onslaught of questions. Shacklebolt liked to treat everyone like a rookie, and as such had developed a habit of asking open-ended questions to improve deductive reasoning in his employees. A little tactic Dumbledore had passed on to him.

"We think he apparated into the sky," she said pointing above her, "and then…"

That certainly wiped the smile off his face.

"And where was he coming from?" he asked.

"We're not sure, sir, the sensors went down after the initial detection. Took them a good 10 minutes to get working again," she replied. "It was too late to tell where he'd come from."

"Any thoughts?"

"You want me to guess?" she asked incredulous.

"Call it an informed opinion."

"Okay," she said, thinking it through. "I think he was running from something."

"And why do you think that?"

"Why else would he need to use so much power? And why go here?" she continued, using her arms to indicate the desolate field around them. "I think he just really wanted to get away from wherever he was, and just… did it."

"You mean he didn't think about where he was going? Wouldn't he want medical attention? Assistance from us if he were in trouble?" he asked quickly.

She glared at him, "You asked for a guess,_ sir._ And that's what I gave you. I can't justify a guess."

"Relax, Nymphadora," he said repentantly, "You did just fine. I even happen to agree with you."

"Going on hunches now, Kingsley?" she asked, turning to spare her old friend a quick smile, but as she met his gaze he was anything but joking.

"What is it?" she pressed, "what aren't you telling me?"

"There's a reason why your rookie had a problem getting a medic last night, Tonks," he hinted.

"Another attack?" she murmured, a slight dazed expression gracing her usual friendly contours. "I hadn't heard."

"You wouldn't have," He said gravely, "The Ministry's doing all it can, but so far the only thing that seems to work is keeping the panic down. Things haven't been this bad since the vampire attacks two years ago."

A shudder ran deep within her body. The reminder of just how long ago those attacks had been was unnecessary, there wasn't a soul in Europe who didn't remember those long nights of terror. Hundreds of people were killed and then… they just stopped. No explanation, no warning, no rhyme or reason to the madness. Maybe that much bloodshed was too much even for the Dark Lord.

"How bad was it?" she asked.

"Almost an even two dozen dead," he answered, stepping closer to keep the conversation just between the two of them. "A train car from England in the middle of the night. From the position of the bodies it looks like the attacks happened so quickly that barely anyone had time to move from their seats."

"Barely anyone?"

"A few unlucky ones tried to make a run for it… and were stopped."

She didn't press for details on just how they were stopped.

"The Dark Mark?" she questioned, trying to keep the horror out of her voice.

He shook his head, his eyes hard, "We think he wanted it to be a surprise for the morning commuters."

"So may I ask you a question, Nymphadora?"

"Of course," she said, knowing what was coming.

"Why did you wake me up this early and drag me to the sight of a splinching?" he questioned. "I know it's a bit more… intense than most splinching cases but…"

He let the question hang in the air. She took his arm and led him further away from the other Aurors and investigators. His eyebrows rose in surprise.

"We aren't supposed to talk Order business in the open, Tonks," he chided her.

"You'll make the exception."

"What's going on?"

When they were out of hearing distance, she stepped closer to him, using him as a shield against anyone who might try to read her lips.

"I think I know who our splinching victim is, Kingsley."

"An Auror member?" he asked, casting a concerned glance at the collision mark on the ground where the body had fallen.

"In a way…" she said leadingly.

"Just tell me, Tonks."

She had a sudden feeling of doubt, of insecurity about whether her guess was correct or not. If she was wrong about the victim's identity she would cause unnecessary pain to people who had suffered enough. Then she remembered those distinct eyes from so long ago, and the single glimpse of her victim last night. Her caution cast aside she decided to act.

"I think it was Harry."

There was a pregnant pause, and then, "That's not at all humorous, Nymphadora."

Tonks shook her head, and forced her face into as serious an expression as she could muster.

"Would I joke about this kind of thing, Kinglsey?" she asked him. "You know what it will do to Remus if I'm wrong."

The pair shared a look as they were both forced to remember the unhealthy obsession Remus had developed over the years for looking for the absent Harry Potter.

_He had never given up, no matter what anyone had told him_, Tonks thought guiltily, _no matter what _I_ told him_.

"What makes you so sure?" he asked, his eyes questioning.

"His eyes, Kinglsey," she explained, "you must remember how distinctive those eyes were."

"What about his scar?"

"His face is burned badly, Kinglsey," she answered, trying not to sound desperate, "if it was there it would've been buried."

"You're sure, Tonks?"

"Yes."

Another pause, this time even longer than the first.

"Kingsley?" she pushed, impatience and a touch of disturbance creeping into her voice.

"Go to St. Mungos, Tonks," he ordered as he spun away from her. "Tell no one."

"Not even…" she trailed off.

"Just do it, Tonks," he ordered, stalking away towards the entrance of the Quidditch Pitch. She nearly recoiled at the hard edge to his voice.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

_Three Days Later…_

Consciousness, he decided, was like water. No matter how you tried to keep hold of it, it would slip right through your fingers. So, yeah, it was water… really, really annoying water.

He could sometimes catch glimpses of the world outside of his dark mind. Once, early on, he'd even tried to speak with someone but his body was just in too much pain. The harder he tried the sooner he'd succumb back to the darkness.

Thus his new plan was to wait it out. He wouldn't try to wake up again unless he thought he was dead or able to stay awake. He wasn't sure if he slept for minutes, hours, days, weeks, or…

He remembered sounds around him, like whispers in the dark. He felt his body being jostled, and the pain it caused. He could taste the liquid in his throat that made his brain fuzzy and made him slip into darkness no matter how hard he fought. He could see the colorful lights that reminded him of a fireworks display he'd witnessed as a child. All of which only fueled the fire that was his frustration and confusion.

He could remember being reminded of something, but not what either meant. He could remember that he had a childhood but not what it was. He could remember faces but not what to call them. Even if he managed to remember what the bright lights hitting his body were called, they would still hold no meaning for him.

He felt something smooth touch his parted lips and then the familiar liquid enter him and his brain turned off…

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

"These are keeping him comfortable," explained a nameless Healer, as he poured some more potion down the still form on the bed in front of her.

Tonks couldn't help the irritability she felt towards the staff at St. Mungos. She had been here for days and still no response from Harry.

"That he isn't dead is progress enough," the Healers kept saying.

But it wasn't enough for Tonks, she couldn't keep on like this. She and Remus were fighting over her irritability with her job and she couldn't even tell him why without breaking her word to Kinglsey and the Order. Her rookies were mad at her for being forced to take shifts keeping guard at the hospital. The cover story Tonks and Kingsley had cooked up did nothing to keep their hostility towards her down. The official story was that she'd done something to upset the Head Auror and both she and her trainees were being punished with babysitting duty.

It wasn't the first time she'd been punished like that, especially in the early days when her clumsiness had been even more pronounced. She'd once spent an entire month cleaning out the Auror Barracks because she'd slipped and sent her dinner flying at the boot camp instructor's head. She grimaced at the memory of having to clean the toilets the Muggle way.

"When do you think he'll wake up?" she asked impatiently.

"When his mind is ready," the Healer replied.

Tonks looked down at the bed to keep herself from leaping at the unhelpful Healer. Of course she wanted Harry to recover, but it needed to be sooner rather than later. The Wizarding World had spent too much time without its young hero.

In her hands she continued to coil and then loosen a long gold chain with an old fashioned skeleton key at the end. It had been the single piece of evidence collected from the sight of the splinching where they had found Harry. The only other clue they had to where Harry might have come from, or what he'd been doing all of this time, was the battered cloak he'd been wearing.

So far they'd found neither answer from either the robe or the mysterious key.

There was a knock at the door. She looked up and smiled as she saw Kinglsey. Finally someone she could discuss Harry with… someone who could understand the mix of emotions inside her over his return.

"Still here?" he asked wryly.

"Always," the Healer mumbled as he slipped out of the room.

Shacklebolt chuckled as he took the second chair next to the bed.

"Do you have any idea the number of complaints I've gotten from St. Mungos since you've been here?" he asked mischievously. "Something about pesky Aurors causing scenes in the hospital?"

"You know why I'm anxious, Kinglsey."

His gaze turned to the body on the bed as he nodded his understanding of the situation.

"What have they told you?" he asked.

"Still waiting for a full work up on his injuries," she said harshly.

"It's been three days!" he exclaimed angrily.

"Yes," she said turning slowly to look at him through angry slits in her eyes, "I am _fully_ aware of that fact."

Shacklebolt launched himself out of the chair and stalked into the hospitals hallway. Tonks smiled to herself.

_If only he'd come to visit me sooner_, she thought as she savored the noises from the hall.

Moments later a nervous Healer in administrator robes entered the room with an angry Shacklebolt in pursuit.

Tonks quirked an eyebrow at her boss and friend.

"Healer Swanson, here," he said with a nod at the Healer, "was just coming to give us a full report on Ha--- our splinching victim."

She noticed how he had almost said Harry's name.

"Yes," agreed the Healer, oblivious to the slip, "I apologize for the wait, we've just had an exceptionally busy week what with the Muggle train attack and all."

He looked at Tonks with a hopeful expression that maybe she'd protect him from the irate Head Auror.

_No such luck, buddy, _she thought to herself.

"Apparently you had enough time to fill out complaints against my colleagues and my presence in your hospital, though," she glared.

She enjoyed the nearly audible gulp the Healer made.

"Shall we get to the exam results?" Kinglsey hinted.

The Healer wasted no time pulling out the patient file and began reading aloud.

"Uh, your John Doe, was admitted with the preliminary assumption that he was a splinching victim."

"Yes," interrupted Shacklebolt, "we know all this."

The Healer began to sweat a little as he flipped through the sheet looking for information he didn't think the two would already know.

"Uh, later reports indicate that the injuries sustained existed before the victim apparated." He looked up hoping to have pleased the pair.

"So he was tortured?" Tonks said to the Healer, still keeping her gaze focused on Kinglsey.

"Uh huh, that's the most likely diagnosis," he confirmed.

"Most likely?" repeated Kinglsey.

"Well the injuries _are_ consistent with a significant fall or maybe a car accident?"

"So why don't you think it was either of those?" asked Tonks, wishing the Healer would get to the point.

"Well, besides the slit throat, our scanning spells of the injuries showed signs of healing before the incident reopened them." He explained. "If he'd fallen off a cliff he would have had to fallen down several peaks and hit every one head on."

"And a car accident?"

"Would have had to hit him several times over, waited for him to heal, and then hit him again. Torture," he continued thoughtlessly, "is far more likely. Someone beating him, healing the injuries, and then repeating the action."

Tonks suddenly felt ill.

"Combined with the fall from the botched apparition and you get this," he said pointing at the body between them.

"What's his recovery period?" Shacklebolt asked quietly.

"His body seems to be healing rather quickly, which," he explained, "is most likely due to it growing accustomed to the beating procedures from before. Lucky thing, too, most people would've taken longer and died right there in that field."

"You mean to say that the reason he's alive is because his body got used to healing quicker from his torture?" Tonks asked horrified.

"Yes."

"How long would it take for something like that to happen?" she asked.

"For the body to change its natural healing cycle for an outside stimulus?" he thought aloud, "Years, probably."

Tonks looked at Kingsley who nodded at her. The evidence that this could be The-Boy-Who-Lived was growing.

_But is that such a good thing?_ she asked herself, looking over his injuries. She didn't like the thought of Harry being put through all of that at the hands of Voldemort. Even more she hated the prospect of being the one to tell Remus that his worst nightmare was true.

_But he's back now_, she comforted herself.

"How long until he's awake again?" she asked.

"It depends---"

"---on his mind," she interrupted, "yeah, yeah. But what does that _mean_?"

He bristled at her interruption. "Most likely any day, but we'll have to keep him in an induced coma until his injuries are healed."

"Why?" she blurted the question out as soon as it entered her mind.

"Because," he said stiffly, "the pain his body is experiencing as its healing is incalculable. The magical skin grafts on his body from the burns are just the beginning. He broke almost every rib in his body, which will make it painful enough to breath let alone move. His internal organs have been sealed thanks to our spells but we still have to monitor for any unseen leaks. We wouldn't want him to drown in himself, would we?"

The tone was biting and she hadn't expected it from the one time nervous doctor. She liked that he at least tried to defend his patient, even if it was to her.

"His vocal cords," he continued, "were strained from the amount of screaming he must have done from these injuries. As I mentioned before, at one time it appears that someone tried to slit his throat, which didn't help the vocal cords either. His ability to move his hands and legs may have been compromised with nerve damage, possibly even problems with the spine. We've given him potions that have worked before on disabled patients, but we're still waiting to see if they'll take to his system. It doesn't work with everyone, you know."

"Thank you for your time," Kingsley muttered as an obvious dismissal to the Healer.

The Healer took no time in making his exit.

"I think we should tell McGonagall," Tonks said as soon as the Healer left the room.

Kingsley shook his head, "We don't have enough yet, Nymphadora."

"Not enough?" she nearly cried. "Harry's been gone for seven years, and this victim's been tortured for years. The victim tried to escape but for some reason splinched himself. Don't you think it plausible that Harry could have been escaping his captors and splinched because of all his injuries? The eyes are identical, Kingsley."

To emphasize her point, her own eyes turned that killing curse green that was so recognizable to those in Harry's life.

"If someone came to Remus with just this as evidence, would you let him run off with them?" He asked pointedly.

"I can't stop Remus from doing anything," she muttered.

"Tonks, answer the question."

"No," she sighed. "I'd make him wait for more before getting his hopes up."

"And that's exactly what we're going to do, Tonks."

Tonks nodded.

"You have the key on you?" he asked.

She handed it to him. "Going to have Weasley take a look?"

"She does know everything, doesn't she?" Kingsley joked.

Tonks managed a smile.

"I'll stay with him until they're ready to wake him up."

"That could be a long time, Tonks," he warned her.

"I don't want someone to come looking for him and have him be defenseless," she said. "But I want my rookies reassigned for the time being. They have too much to learn to waste time here."

Kingsley nodded. "I'll put in the paperwork tomorrow morning."

"Goodbye, Kingsley."

"Goodbye, Nymphadora," he said before walking out of the room, "and give my best to Remus, won't you?"

She nodded.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

_A Week Later…_

"What's the diagnosis?" Tonks asked.

"Healing rather nicely, I'm happy to say," Healer Swanson proclaimed proudly. Tonks wasn't sure which he was happier about, his patient getting better or that it meant less visits from Tonks and Shacklebolt.

"His face is clearing up," she commented. She was finally starting to see some of the old Harry coming back over the burn scars that used to cover his face.

"Yes," said the Healer, "we were a little surprised with that, too. The preliminary burn analysis must have been wrong. It would've taken months to get these types of results, before beginning with the salves. Lucky for us we can start now."

Tonks watched as he gently rubbed the white cream into the crevices of Harry's face, smoothing over each layer until it was all cream. He spelled tight the bandages over the cream covered face.

"They'll come off in a few weeks, and we'll see just how lucky we got with those burns."

"What else?"

Healer Swanson took her through each injury, demonstrating the amazing progress already made and the next steps to correcting the injuries. He started with the back, which they couldn't see, but he explained that the potions had worked their special magic and Harry would have nearly full ability in his limbs. Tonks sighed in relief.

The infection from the neck wound Harry had sustained was gone, but the vocal cords were taking some time to heal. If Harry woke before they were healed he'd find himself speaking as if from a voice box.

Next he showed her the purple and black mass of flesh that he claimed was Harry's abdomen. He showed her the slightly grey tinge at the edge of the bruising which showed strong signs of a slow but steady recovery.

The part of the skin where the leg bone had broken through had healed, and the bone was setting nicely. All of the smaller cuts, bruises, and burns that had covered his body were finally pleasant patches of pink.

All in all, she thought Healer Swanson had worked a miracle.

_No_, she corrected herself, _Harry gets credit for this miracle._

"So when can we try to wake him up?" she asked.

"There's been a steady change in his temperature since his admittance that could be part of an infection we can't find," he warned. "As long as it doesn't rise too quickly, we could make an attempt as early as next weekend."

"Good," she said, "Auror Shacklebolt will be pleased to know."

Swanson eyed her warily, and she could tell he was trying to word something tactfully so as not to anger her.

"What?" she prompted him.

"You've been here with this patient for over a week," he began. "Even gone so far as to post guards in the beginning. I've never seen a John Doe treated like that before."

Tonks felt her inner warning systems turn on. "He's an important witness on a case of mine. We need to be sure he gets better."

"Of course," he nodded along, but she could tell he hadn't bought her story.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

_Five Days Later…_

The message had been delivered by means of an eager receptionist who felt it urgent enough to interrupt a Ministry Department Head meeting.

_If only she knew how close she came to getting sacked_, Kingsley thought as he looked around the table at the other Department Heads.

He flipped the folded piece of parchment over and scanned it quickly.

_Something's wrong with our friend, H. Splinch. Come now. Tonks._

Not a very subtle hint at whom she was referring, but if it was as urgent as she made it seem than she didn't have time to be clever.

"Excuse me, Witches and Wizards," he said using his most apologetic tone, "but a personal emergency has come up that requires my attention."

"Is everything alright, Kinglsey?" asked one of the few friends he had in the Ministry.

He should have known that the Head of the Auror Division being required to attend an emergency would lead them to believe something Voldemort-related had happened.

"Nothing of general concern," he down played it, "strictly personal and unavoidable."

He stood and exited, not waiting to see if the others would let him get away without asking permission. The receptionist followed him into the lifts at the end of the corridor. She pushed the button to go up to his office.

"No, Susanna," he said, "I'm just headed to the floo."

"Very good, sir."

He smiled as she leaned forward to hit the button. He pulled his wand out as silently as he could and whispered _Obliviate_.

"Are you alright, my dear?" his deep voice asked, as he caught her from falling over.

"What?" she asked hazily, "I… I think so."

"Are you feeling alright?"

"I… I guess not," she said. "I must be getting some of that flu that's going around."

"Maybe you should take the day off?" he suggested kindly. "Make sure you don't spread it. The button's already pushed for the floo level."

She turned and stared at the panel. "I guess that's what I was doing."

"Smart girl," he complimented her.

She beamed shortly before exiting the lift into the wide corridor that housed the various floos that carried the bustling workers to and from the Ministry each day.

He waited until she had flooed home before entering the one farthest from the guard station and stating, "St. Mungos!"

The change in atmosphere was apparent from the moment he stepped out of the fireplace. He had left a quiet afternoon in the Ministry's Floo level and traded it for chaos more likely to be seen in a war zone.

He tensed himself for the threat of a Death Eater attack, but he didn't see terror on the faces of the people passing in front of him. He saw panic, yes, but nothing too out of place. In fact most people just look disturbed. The Healers who weren't running towards a loud wailing sound were trying to comfort and control the patients who were pushing against them trying to get in the opposite direction.

Harry's room was in the direction of the commotion. He moved quickly, not pausing to apologize to the people he brushed against and, in one case, knocked to the ground. The loud noise continued to get stronger as he approached Harry's room.

Sure enough a crowd had gathered at the doorway of Harry's hospital room. He could hear Tonks barking orders from inside. He even heard his own name mentioned in an interesting combination of decidedly colorful language. He squeezed his way through the throng of watchful Healers and patients that layered the entranceway.

"Coming through!" he bellowed, "Auror coming through!"

"Shacklebolt!" Tonks shouted, "Where the hell have you been?"

"Language, Tonks," he chided her over the wailing noise, eyeing the crowd to remind her to keep up the pretense that there was nothing more personal in their relationship than employer and employee. It wouldn't do well for rumors to start that they knew each other outside of work.

He realized with a start that the noise he'd heard from the opposite wing was coming from Harry himself. He was moaning loudly.

"What's wrong with him?" he shouted over the moans to Healer Swanson.

The Healer looked up from the head of the bed where he was running monitoring spells over the Harry.

"The fever I warned you about spiked 10 minutes ago," he yelled back. "Perhaps your compatriot can fill you in while I figure out how to stop… this."

Tonks stepped forward and spoke loudly into Kingsley's ear. "The temperature of the fever is burning off the pain potions in his system."

"He can feel the pain?" he asked, remembering the list of injuries the Healers had detailed and the pain that would be involved. "What about the Sleeping Potions? Shouldn't that keep him unconscious?"

Tonks shook her head. "They're being burned off, too."

_Sweet Merlin_, Kingsley thought to himself, _He's going to wake up._

As if synchronized with his thoughts, the eyes that Tonks had described as proof positive that the person on the bed was indeed Harry Potter fluttered open. Then his lips parted and the moaning became frantic screaming. His body flew in fits, struggling against the restraints Healer Swanson had so wisely fastened to him.

" If he keeps moving he's going to undue all of the healing he's done this week," warned the Healer. "Possibly inflict more damage."

Kingsley winced at the struggling limbs and jerking movements of the body. The damage to the vocal cords was causing the screams to sound more like nails on the chalkboard. He'd never even heard animals whine like this… it was horrifying.

"Shouldn't his body be going into shock?" called a Healer from outside the room.

Healer Swanson nodded, "I don't understand he shouldn't be remaining awake through this. I don't even know why his insides haven't begun to cook with a temperature like this."

"There's no way to induce the shock?" asked Tonks, desperately.

The Healer shook his head, watching Harry jerk on the bed gravely. "The fever will just burn off anything I give him. I'd stun him but it would interfere with the healing spells already placed. We have no way of knowing what adverse affects it would cause."

The screaming intensified, and Harry's beautiful green eyes became unfocused in pain.

Kingsley didn't think twice about his actions before he stepped forward. Harry, for he had seen his eyes and knew it was the Boy-Who-Lived, would die from the movement if he couldn't stop. He could already see that one of the bones that hadn't been fully set yet was pushing against the skin as the jerkiness increased in force. It was inhuman to force him to feel the pain even if he was finally capable of waking up.

Kingsley pulled his arm back and swung, hitting Harry straight in the side of the head with all his strength. The screaming stopped and the room was finally silent. Harry slumped into his pillows finally returning to unconsciousness.

The room remained dead silent as everyone looked at Shacklebolt with incredulous eyes.

"See the fever burn _that_ off," he muttered.

Healer Swanson began barking off orders to his staff, and stroked the side of Harry's face with the wand.

"You're lucky there isn't any brain damage, Shacklebolt," cried the Healer after a moment of status spells.

"He's a tough one," shrugged Shacklebolt. "Now you have some time to figure out a way to keep him that way."

The Healer nodded and continued his scans of Harry's body.

Tonks stepped up behind him, "You realize that if you'd damaged him Remus would have taken your head off… literally."

Shacklebolt tried not to envision that.

"He'll be okay," he reassured her. "Harry was always a tough kid. Just cause he's older doesn't mean that's changed."

She smirked, "Finally admitting it's Harry, then?"

He nodded, "but I'm still not saying anything until we have more proof."

"I'll see how Hermione's doing on that key first thing tomorrow."

"Let me know if she finds anything."

Tonks nodded. It felt good to have someone on her side again, even if he did just punch Harry Potter in the head.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

Slowly the water that was Harry's consciousness dried up and became sand. Still difficult to hold onto, but at least it was firm and containable.

Words, meanings, thoughts began to swim through his mind. Some were easy to remember, others more difficult.

He had dreams of a gang of red heads. He dreamed of giants and dragons. He envisioned mirrors with people inside and pale skeletal arms stroking his face. He felt flashes of heat burning his cloak, and then the cold wind ruffling them. He remembered drowning in long curly brown hair as someone hugged him tight. He thought of ominous veils that called out to him and the large black dog that stood next to him. He saw lakes with people holding their breath beneath the murky surface. He heard the whispers of snakes that told only lies and never truths. For a day he even saw images in only red and gold.

And then, finally, faces began to emerge from the dark and he was no longer alone.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

_Two Weeks Later…_

"We've managed to stabilize him enough to make the attempt," confirmed Swanson.

"And his injuries…"

"---Are healed enough to deal with the pain on his own."

Kingsley looked at Tonks for confirmation. She nodded back at him.

"Alright, then. Tomorrow we wake him up."

Kingsley waited for Healer Swanson to leave before daring to finish his sentence.

"First," he said, "we go to McGonagall."

"Agreed."

**Author's Notes:**

Special thanks, as always, to Vira for being such a dependable beta. Also, thanks to dougal74 for being my first reviewer for this story.

I'm really happy with this chapter and I'll tell you why. I'm never terribly happy when an author drags out a chapter, but what I hate even more is when an author makes Harry magically get back into the game within 2 sentences. There are plenty of chapters left and much more to enjoy, so you'll have to forgive me for taking my time. Although, rest assured that Harry will be back next chapter. Not in good shape, by any means, but with trauma like his he should be lucky he's even alive.

Since the chapter wasn't Harry centric I tried to incorporate a good bit of groundwork for plot bunnies that appear in later chapters in this one. Some (like the key) are fairly obvious, but there a few other tricks up my sleeve that I think (hope) I snuck by you all.

Reviews are always welcome, even something as simple as "good" or "boring" helps me out a lot.

Oh, and Happy 4th of July!

Moriarty's Minion


	3. Rude Awakenings

_Dulce Bellum Inexpertis_

Moriarty's Minion

**Chapter Three:**

**Rude Awakenings**

"_How poor are they who have not patience!  
What wound did ever heal but by degrees."_

- William Shakespeare

_This should be interesting_, Tonks thought to herself as she quietly made her way towards the infirmary wing of Hogwarts Castle. Tucked neatly beneath her arm was a large manila folder, official looking parchment protruding slightly at the edges.

Only an hour ago Kingsley had laid out his plan on how to best handle the situation with Harry's awakening. As was usual when it came to an issue involving the Boy-Who-Lived, it was anything but simplistic. They had to be 100% sure that this was _the_ Harry Potter they were dealing with before alerting the rest of the Order. Then of course there was the issue of how to keep the staff of Healers that had worked on Harry quiet. If anyone recognized Harry when those bandages came off of his face, which of course they would, it would be on the front page of the next issue of the Daily Prophet. Even Healer Swanson, who had proved more competent these past weeks than in his initial meeting with the Aurors, couldn't be trusted to keep it to himself.

During the course of Harry's prolonged absence the Order had discovered just how difficult it was to keep secrets within the walls of the St. Mungos institution. The only safe place they had left was 12 Grimmauld Place.

_No_, Tonks corrected herself, _even that might not be safe enough for this secret._

While deciding on their next course of action, Tonks and Kingsley had argued over many things, but one part of their plan was easily agreed upon. They would have to include Poppy and McGonagall. It effectively solved two of their problems. They needed McGonagall's assistance in covering up their actions, and Poppy to help with the medical recovery Harry needed once he was awake.

_Speaking of which, _Tonks thought as she took a breath to steady herself before opening the double doors that led to the medical wing. She knew that once she stepped over the threshold that a spell would alert Madame Poppy Pomfrey, or _Poppy_ as Tonks had become accustomed to calling her, that someone was in the wing. Of course Poppy would assume it was for medical attention, which, in a manner of speaking it was.

"Nymphadora Tonks?" called a familiar voice from the darkness. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Poppy," Tonks answered breathily, "it's me."

"You didn't trip over something again, did you?"

Tonks didn't know whether to laugh or grimace at the reminder of how many times she'd been admitted into Poppy's care due to her own clumsiness.

_Might even have given Harry a run for his money at a most hospital visits award_, she thought wryly.

"No, Poppy," she replied, "I've come about something else."

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

"Come in, Shacklebolt!"

Kingsley let his deep booming laugh fill the stairwell outside the Headmistresses Office. He'd always wondered if it was an ability of only Dumbledore to see who was taking the revolving staircase up to his office. After Minerva had taken over for Albus it had become clear that it was a perk that came with the office and not a supernatural ability.

He swung open the office door.

"How can I help you this evening, Kingsley?" asked Minerva, sitting behind her large ornate desk, dressed in her sleeping gown, but obviously wide-awake and with her wand in hand.

He realized suddenly that she thought he was alerting her to an attack.

"Relax, Minerva," he assured her, "All is well in the world, for once."

He noticed her shoulders relax slightly now that there was no need to prepare for battle. "Tea?"

"No, thank you, Minerva."

"No attack? No tea?" she asked with her eyebrows raised heatedly. "Then why, may I ask, are you and Nymphadora Tonks creeping into my school at such an early hour?"

"That would be of a more… _private_ nature," he said, raising his eyes slightly to indicate the sleeping portraits hung around the office ceiling.

"All of the portraits of Hogwarts are magically bound to the Headmistress or Headmaster, Kingsley, you know that."

"Indulge me, please," he requested. He knew from his experiences as a student at Hogwarts that while the portraits were bound to the Headmistress, they could still gossip to each other in the presence of others. Several Hufflepuff girls in his year had started many a rumor just by gleaning bits of information from a talkative portrait.

Minerva raised her eyebrows slightly at the intensity of his gaze.

"Very well," she said, raising her wand.

She moved her wand in a circular motion and muttered something unintelligible under breath. Instantly curtains sprouted over the portraits and several cries of panic were heard from the dimensionally challenged figures.

"That spell keeps them from seeing or hearing what occurs in this office," she explained.

"Thank you," he said. She nodded at him.

"Now what could possibly need this much secrecy, Kingsley?" she asked, leaning back into her chair.

_Curiosity and the cat, indeed,_ he thought as he watched her settle into her investigative mode.

"A month ago Tonks was called to the scene of a large magical surge," he began. "When she arrived she found a body that had been badly splinched, or so she thought. Upon further examination of the body, Tonks began to suspect the identity of the apparent splinching victim."

"I assume that it's not an Order Member," McGonagall interrupted sternly, "and that you haven't been keeping an injury of one of our _friends_ that serious from the Order."

"Not exactly," he answered. "After visiting St. Mungos, and the victim in person, a lot of Tonks' theories as to the victim's identity began to make sense. You must understand that we had to be sure of who he was before coming to you with it."

"And now," she said, "I assume you have enough faith in your assumption to bring it to the Order's attention?"

"Enough faith to come to _you_," he corrected.

"And who, pray tell, is this mysterious splinching victim?" she asked.

He swallowed nervously, "We believe it's… we believe we found… Harry, Harry Potter."

There was silence in the dark office.

Kingsley tried to study the landscape of Minerva McGonagall's face for any indication of how she was processing the bombshell he'd just dropped into her lap.

He thought back to his original reaction to Tonks trying to tell him the same information, and hoped Minerva would be more accepting. It had taken him several hours to settle and think it through rationally. Dumbledore, he knew, would have taken but a second to comprehend the news and then move on.

But how would Minerva react?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she brought her wide eyes up to meet his.

"I think we're going to need some tea after all."

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

After a lengthy discussion between the conspiring foursome it was decided that in the hopes of keeping Harry Potter alive, that his reappearance must be kept quiet. This meant that his health care would need to be handled solely by the talented Poppy Pomfrey herself. Minerva has already begun arrangements for a temporary replacement for Poppy's absence.

This also meant that Healer Swanson presented an immediate threat to both objectives… and would need to be dealt with sooner rather than later.

So Tonks and Madam Pomfrey were sent off to rob St. Mungo's of their lone high priority patient, while Minerva wiped the records, and the staff's minds, clear of the Boy-Who-Lived's presence at the medical facility.

Kingsley had drawn the short straw and was slowly creeping towards the small mansion that Healer Swanson claimed as his home. After spending so much time with Tonks at Harry's bedside that he knew what shifts Healer Swanson was working that day. The personnel files provided by the Ministry had given him the last information he needed: Healer Swanson's home address.

Kingsley paused as he felt the slight buzzing of a security ward at the end of the Healer's driveway. Kingsley waved his wand casually, and felt the ward dissipated.

_For someone with so much money_, thought Kingsley,_ he certainly should have paid more money_.

Within a few minutes he had reached the front door, made a casual circle of the mansion. He was only mildly surprised that Healer Swanson had had too much faith in the ward around the property to further secure the building itself.

Kingsley didn't even have to use magic to break in. Instead he simply found the dining room window unlocked and slid it open with his wandless hand. Putting himself through the small window frame proved more difficult for his larger than average body size.

He cast a quick silencing charm at the bottom of his robes so that he would not make any unintended noises. He paused in the center of the house, the front foyer, and listened intently for where any signs of life might be hiding.

He smiled, his wide tooth filled smile, as he heard Swanson's high pitched snoring noises coming from the upstairs bedroom. It took him no time at all to navigate his way up the stairs and into the master bedroom. Kingsley couldn't help but groan in annoyance as he spotted the various awards and commendations that Healer Swanson so proudly decorated his bedroom in.

"You're of an odd lot, Swanson," Kinglsey muttered, "but this is about more than you or I or even your bloody awards."

He focused his own mind on the anonymous patient that Healer Swanson had been treating for over a month now, before letting loose a silent _Obliviate_. The spell would seek the topic of information Kingsley had been thinking of and purge him from the Healers memories. When it was done, Kingsley would think of something rather boring for the holes left from the stolen memories to be filled with.

"Sleep tight, Swanson."

In the morning, Healer Swanson would wonder at having left his master bedroom door open and unlocked. In the end, he would dismiss it as one of the stresses of his tiresome occupation and never think twice about the young splinching victim he had become so obsessed with.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

"Are you ready?"

Tonks had to force herself to hold the intense gaze Poppy Pomfrey was aiming at her. The Healer still had one hand on the small potion bottle she was carefully administering to Harry, but her full attention was on Tonks herself.

"Yes," she replied, keeping her voice steady.

The potion was a unique combination of pain medication and pepper up potion. Over the course of the day Poppy's potion would slowly wake Harry from the magically induced coma Healer Swanson had placed him in to protect his mind from the pain of his body. If all went according to plan, the moderate anti-pain potion would slowly take over the job of protecting his mind.

Unfortunately they had no idea how long it would take for Harry to awaken from the magical coma. It could be anywhere between an hour to a day to a week. Tonks had the first watch, then McGonagall, then Kingsley. Poppy had to be present at all times in case there was a need for further medical attention. She had been set up in the room next door just in case.

Tonks spent her day reading through her Auror reports, a task she usually reserved for sick days that she hadn't faked, and catching up on old ones. She was on her sixth arrest report when she heard the first moan come from the small bed in the center of the room.

She never knew she could jump out of a chair so fast. Mad Eye would have been pleased at her response time.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

Harry knew the exact moment he regained consciousness. The sense of lightlessness had evaporated. One moment the feeling of flying through a dark cloud was gone and in the next he could feel the bed cushion beneath him. Worse yet, he felt each excruciating point of impact where the material, soft as it was, pressed into his back painfully. Wounds all across his body began to erupt in sudden pain, as if the cruciatus curse itself had somehow settled into him.

He groaned.

"Harry?"

Harry cracked in eye open at the sound of someone calling his name. Through the pain he vaguely registered that the voice had been close to his right side. The world beyond his closed eyelids was disturbingly dark. When he thought back to the times he had awoken in the Hogwarts infirmary wing, he would almost always be met with strong light streaming in through the large windowpanes. This sudden darkness made him feel even more compromised. His breathing began to deepen as he panicked, beginning to think he might have gone blind.

He tried to cry out, tried to ask the voice next to him if he was blind. Instead of a desperate plea for information, something harsh and guttural erupted from his voice. This only served to panic him further. Had he lost the ability to speak as well?

"Harry," came the voice again, "please, try to relax. Don't stress your vocal cords."

Harry was beyond frightened, beyond listening to reason. He was desperate to see or say anything, anything at all. He tried to raise his arms to grope at himself, to feel whatever else might be wrong with him. He screamed in pain from the sudden motion of his arms. His right arm was being constricted by something, but his left fumbled over his face. He found that two hill-like mounds of cloth had been taped over each of his eyes.

He heard the person next to him rise, heard them cry out to him to stop, but it was too late. With as much strength as he could muster, which was embarrassingly little, he took as firm a hold of the material as he could and pulled.

The room was suddenly filled with the sound of ripping leather and Harry's inhuman screams of pain.

Harry had only a quick glance at a dimly lit room with moon and star wallpaper before his eyes focused on the bandage, as he could see what it was now. Around the edges, where magical adhesive had been applied, clung his pale skin with bloodied edges. Crimson began to pour from the circle around his eye where there used to have been skin surrounding it.

"Poppy!" someone shrieked.

The blood was streaming down his face, soaking his bare chest and the sheets on top of him. The metallic taste of his own blood even managed to get into his mouth as he cried out in pain. Arms forced his shoulders back down and then a second pair began pouring liquid down his throat, the container banging painfully against his teeth.

As he coughed and choked on the substance, he had only one thought: _Thank Merlin I'm not blind._

And then he was lost to the darkness again.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

Tonks tried not to blanch at the sight of Harry's blood covering her hands. She was desperately trying to hang onto the image of the young Harry Potter she had seen brooding in Grimmauld Place all those long summers ago. At least then he had been happy with Sirius, or at least what counted as happy for the Boy-Who-Lived. Now, after witnessing the horror of his torment at the hands of the Death Eaters, she feared she might never be able to know that young man again. That fear had not stopped gnawing away at her since she had found the broken body of her old friend lying in that Quidditch field nearer to death than a Grim itself.

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked Poppy.

Poppy stole a glance over her shoulder to the young Auror before answering, "If he ever stops making himself worse, than eventually he'll recover… mostly. Of course I can only do so much. We have no idea how much he'll have to recover from mentally."

"Do you need help with the bandages again?"

"No," Poppy replied. "You've been on shift all afternoon. Why don't you keep Minerva company downstairs?"

"Professor McGonagall's here?" asked Tonks, brightening slightly.

Poppy nodded, "Has been since after dinner."

Tonks smiled gratefully at the excuse to leave the ill room that had once been her father's, Ted Tonks, library. Tonks, along with her mother, Andromeda, had spent the night before reorganizing the room to be a makeshift guest bedroom.

In the living room at the base of the staircase, Tonks spotted her former Transfiguration instructor perusing the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. Upon hearing Tonks' approach, the Headmistress folded the publication upon the lines and set it on the coffee table in front of her.

"How did things go with Harry?" she asked. "Is he ready for me yet?"

Tonks shook her head. "Poppy put him back under with one of her potions. He woke up and started freaking out. He even ripped off one of the bandages on his eyes. Nearly tore half of his face off removing it."

Minerva scowled, "He always did have a knack for making things worse on himself."

Poppy made a fuss as she bustled down the staircase interrupting them, flicking her wand and muttering under breath.

"We should wait to try again for a couple of days," she cautioned them. "Until then, I'll be brushing up on some of my restraining spells from the clinic days of my youth. Plenty of messed up teens in those days and not one of them got free from my bindings."

"We don't want to scare him," Tonks said worrying.

"We also don't want him tearing his skin out again," Poppy snapped. "Took me forever to put the skin back on his face."

"He couldn't speak before either," Tonks reminded the Healer.

"As sure as hell he shouldn't," Poppy muttered, as McGonagall used her wand to conjure a quill and parchment.

"He can use these," the elder woman said, motioning to her latest work, "to communicate with us. Thus no strain on his voice."

"I still think we should bring Remus in on this," Tonks said.

"Soon," McGonagall said, placating, "but not just yet."

"Why not?" Tonks asked, "He's been going crazy looking for Harry and… and I don't know how much longer I can keep it from him. I'm not sure he'll ever forgive me."

McGonagall placed a comforting arm on the younger woman's shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze of affection. "Do you really want Remus to have to see Harry this way after all this time? Look how much it has broken your view of him. Would you so easily condemn Remus to the same cracked vision?"

"You make it sound so noble to lie to my own husband, Professor."

"Sometimes we must simply do what is required to survive, no matter how hard the task." She paused to collect herself, "Albus once told me that."

Minerva cleared her throat and turned her focus to Poppy.

"Friday," she said, "we'll try again Friday."

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

The pain had returned, and Harry mentally grimaced. It was less intense than he remembered the first time, but the memory alone made him fear moving even one inch of his body. As if the memory of the pain of trying to move wasn't enough, he didn't want to go back into a panic tailspin and do something else stupid. The swelling growth around his left eye was his constant, painful, reminder of his previous recklessness.

As the pain steadily increased throughout his body, he was forced to draw a deeper breath. He whimpered slightly from the effort to keep as still as possible.

"Harry?"

A hand fell gently onto his wrist, and rubbed slightly.

He decided to risk the pain and opened his eyes only wide enough to peek through his eyelashes. He was rewarded for his effort when he saw that the gauze bandages were no longer suctioned to his eye sockets. He saw a blob of bright bubblegum pink beside his bed. The recognition flared in his mind, and he risked opening his eyes wider. He was surprised that it wasn't the bright hair that drew his attention, but the megawatt smile she was sending him.

He could see reflected in her eyes the same thing that was going through his own mind. Both he and his friend were running through the millions of things they wanted to say. Each of them was trying to find the words that would be a summary of their thoughts.

Tonks was the first to lean forward and, if anyone were to ask Harry, there could have been no better opening line.

"Wotcher, Harry."

Harry knew the smile was worth the pain it caused him.

A figure was moving from behind the seated Auror. He wanted to turn his head, to see them clearer, but the pain was too great. He had to wait for them to move into his eyesight.

He opened his mouth slightly to speak but the figure from behind Tonks rushed forward practically shouting, "Don't speak! Don't you dare risk your cords again!"

Harry would have recognized the scolding anywhere. He almost tried to respond but remembered her warning to not try to speak.

Poppy forcibly moved Tonks to the end of Harry bed, while she shifted closer and began poking and prodding the air around him with her wand. He sighed, contented, as the feeling that something was trying to crush him lessoned.

"On a scale of one to ten how much pain are you in, Potter?" the Medi-witch demanded. "And don't try to talk. Just blink the number with your eyes."

Harry blinked seven times without hesitation. Poppy frowned.

"It shouldn't be that much," she muttered. "The potion is supposed to react against the pain. I didn't anticipate you'd be in that much pain. I'll have to up the dosage, but spread out the intervals. Don't want you getting addicted, do we?"

Harry managed to roll his eyes a bit.

He tried to raise his arm, but he found them strapped by invisible binds to the bedding below him. He gazed at the pair, the question clear in his eyes.

"Ah, yes," Poppy said, stopping before the straps.

"We didn't know if you'd panic again, Harry," Tonks explained apologetically.

"Didn't want a repeat performance from last time," Poppy said darkly. "We have questions that need answering, as I'm sure you do as well. But I won't let you loose to answer them if you're going to start clawing out your skin again."

"He won't, Poppy."

Harry mentally thanked Tonks for her support. He didn't like how Poppy was using his immobility to antagonize him.

"Nymphadora," Poppy said warningly before turning back to speak to Harry. "Blink once if you promise you won't be undoing all of my good spell work that's keeping you, you know, _alive_."

Harry felt childish doing it, but he made sure to scrunch his eyes a bit, held them a minute, as he blinked the one time. When he released his eyelids he knew Poppy didn't approve of his flippant reply but she didn't say anything.

Her wand lashed out twice over each arm and suddenly Harry could move his wrists. He was careful not to move too quickly or bring his arms up past his waist. He flexed them a little, trying to work out the stiffness and soreness.

As he was working out just how far, or in his case how _little_, he could move his body another figure entered the room.

As she passed over the threshold of the door, the first bit of repressed light from the closed drapes caught her face. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he saw the toll Dumbledore's death had taken on her. He always knew that McGonagall was old, but she had never really looked this _kind_ of old before. It was practically ancient.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter."

Harry smiled mentally; _At least some things will never change._

McGonagall flicked her wand and a large scroll appeared in his left hand. Another motion with the wand and a quill fell into the palm of his right hand.

"Use these," she instructed him. "So as not to strain your voice any more than necessary."

Harry tried to smile at her gratefully but the pain was too severe. Minerva patted his foot comfortingly as if reading her mind.

"Harry, I need to know a few things," McGonagall explained "about your disappearance."

The quill point made a scratching sound across the parchment.

_Okay._

"What do you remember about the day of the attack on your family?"

Harry's hand immediately began to write out what he could remember. He started by describing his Uncle's terse greeting at the train station and then went on to the uncomfortable beginning to the car ride. He kept writing, the parchment clearing itself when he reached the end of the page, allowing him to start again at the top. It reminded him greatly of the Riddle Diary Ginny had used in second year, where the ink absorbed into the parchment.

Every now and then McGonagall or Tonks would offer a question about his story, Tonks seemed especially keen on the details of the dragon that had attacked. Poppy, for the most part, refused to ask any question besides what his pain levels were at.

McGonagall had pressed him on details about the mysterious stranger that had rescued him from Greyback. The further he got in his story the closer Tonks moved to his bed, until finally she was back in her original seat and holding his hand. By the time he reached the explosion, his hand was throbbing in pain from writing down as many details as he could remember. Poppy seemed to have taken notice of his strain and looked about ready to snatch the quill away the moment he set it down, but he still had his questions to ask.

_Where am I?_

"My parents' place," Tonks answered the written question. "We thought it'd be safer than… anywhere really."

_What about the Dursleys? Did they survive the attack on the bridge?_

"I'm sorry, Harry, but while your Aunt and your Cousin survived the crash, they did not leave the hospital alive," McGonagall explained. "Their injuries were simply too severe."

Harry didn't know how to respond. He hadn't really cared for his remaining blood relatives but he hadn't wished them dead either. He wasn't sure he could handle dealing with his emotions over their deaths along with everything else. He was scared to examine too closely how he might feel about their loss. He decided to push on to the other question that had been bothering him, one he was most afraid to ask.

_How bad was I injured?_

Poppy decided to step in and offered up as much information as she could on the subject. "There were a few minor cuts, bruises, and broken bones that were easily healed by the Medi-Wizards. Both of your legs were crushed in the impact, as well as one of your arms."

Harry swallowed hard at the description. He asked the question, knowing the answer already.

_Was that it?_

"Far from it. When Tonks, here, found you," the witch nodded her head to the Auror, "you were half dead. One of your lungs had collapsed and you were drowning in your own blood. She only just managed to save you."

Harry turned to Tonks, as well.

_Thank you for saving me._

Tonks smiled at him, but didn't say anything. He turned back to the parchment.

_All that damage is just from the explosion?_

"What explosion, Harry?" asked Tonks.

_My injuries. These are all from the explosion on the bridge… aren't they?_

He didn't like the look that passed between the three older women.

_What is it?_

The three exchanged urgent glances again. It seems their silent argument had left Tonks to explain such things to him.

"Harry," she asked softly, "how long ago do you think the attack on the bridge was?"

He felt a puzzled look flitter across his face.

_A week. Maybe two. I don't know how long I've been out for._

Tonks jerked backwards into her seat.

"Oh, Merlin," she breathed shakily. She looked up at McGonagall with unshed tears brimming in her eyes. Even the usually unshakeable Madame Pomfrey looked distressed at his statement.

_How long has it been? Tell me, please!_

McGonagall put both her hands on the heels of his legs as if to brace him for what she was about to say.

"Harry," she began, "the attack on the Dursley automobile happened during the summer before your seventh and final year at Hogwarts." She took a deep breath through her nose, as if trying to inhale courage from the air around them.

"That summer was seven years ago, Harry," she explained quietly. "You've been missing for seven years."

They let him absorb the shock.

"What was the last thing you remember, Harry?" Tonks asked.

He looked up, a lost expression on his face. Tonks repeated the question, as if knowing he hadn't been listening.

_The explosion. On the bridge._

He didn't understand. How could he have lost seven years worth of memory? How could it be that what felt like yesterday had actually been years of yesterdays?

_Where have I been?_

"We don't know, Harry."

"We think possibly with Death Eaters," admitted little Madame Pomfrey, "but we couldn't discover where."

"Believe me," whispered Tonks, "Remus and I have been looking everywhere. If we'd known, we'd have come for you."

_So where did you find me?_

"On an old Quidditch pitch," explained Tonks. "You apparated in the middle of the field about 100 feet in the air… and then you fell."

Harry swallowed, hard.

_I'm surprised there wasn't worse damage._

His poor attempt at humor did not seem to amuse the women in the slightest. Truthfully, he didn't even want to think anymore. He thought his head might explode if he focused on the incident too much.

Madame Pomfrey must have misinterpreted his joke as an actual question because she started to explain his injuries further.

"We're doing the best we can on the burns," Madame Pomfrey explained, as if defending her work.

He took up the quill again.

_Burns? _

Madame Pomfrey stole a quick glance at McGonagall, waited for her nod of approval, before transfiguring a small mirror for him out of the quill.

Harry gripped the mirror tight in his palm. He still couldn't move his arm enough to put it up to his face, so he was forced to angle the mirror from a spot by his waist. As his own image fell into the reflective glass plane he had to stop himself from crying out in shock and terror.

It wasn't the horribly dried skin with its scab-like sheen above his left eye where flames had obviously licked his skin. It wasn't that the side of his eyelid now connected over half of his eye to reach the lower lid, seared together by whatever had done this damage.

He was in terror at the sight of his own reflection that was no longer what he remembered. Even without the disfigurement, his was no longer the face of a seventeen-year-old boy. The face in the mirror belonged to someone much older. The jawbone was more defined, the dents in his face deepened, handsome almost. His hair was cropped so short that one couldn't even tell how unruly it would be at any longer length. His eyes brimmed with tears at the evidence of just how much he had truly lost. There was no denying the lapse in time.

The only aspect of himself that hadn't changed were the emerald green eyes his mother had passed down to him.

It was then that the thought struck him. He quickly scrambled for the quill and parchment, trying to ignore the protests of his humbled body.

_Where are my glasses?_

**Authors Note:**

I was in a pretty bad car accident this weekend and won't be able to write for a bit, but since chapter 4 is done I figured I'd just post a little early. This way at least someone isn't miserable. My car was completely totaled, but at least it wasn't my fault and no one died, right?

Vira went to Taiwan for good, so editing might take a little longer. Wishing her all the best though!

Also, special thanks to "Blah" for keeping their review to constructive criticism. I honestly appreciate the advice and agree with you. I will endeavor to do better in the future. All I can say is that I needed that scene to go a certain way and ignored common sense to make it happen. Thanks for keeping me honest.

I hope the story is keeping you entertained. I know it's been kind of slow on the action front, but trust me, I'm a big fan of the action and can rarely write a chapter without it.

Unfortunately, I've needed to set up a few things first which, until now, has meant that it's been all about the mystery of the past 7 years and establishing the current situation. I'm very happy to finally be moving towards more of the mystery and more of the action, as you'll see midway through the very next chapter.

Don't forget to review, please! Seriously, car accident = need some cheering up.

Moriarty's Minion

21


	4. Fired Up!

_Dulce Bellum Inexpertis_

Moriarty's Minion

**Chapter Four:**

**Fired Up!**

"_I only believe in fire. Life. _

_Being myself on fire I set others on fire._

_Never death. Fire and Life. Les Jeux."_

- Anais Nin

Muggles, while not magically gifted, were still bestowed with certain specialties. One of the most prominent and wide spread of these has always been their special capacity for denial. Over the years it had taken many forms ranging from "I don't have a drinking problem, I'm just allergic to water" to "I don't care what Paula says, I'm going to be the next 'American Idol'." For centuries it has been this endearing characteristic that has allowed the Magical community to stay hidden amongst the Muggles.

When these simple Muggles see dragons flying overhead, they pass it off as a plane and a trick of the light. When someone spots a wizard or witch apparate, they only remember a car backfiring and a figment of their imagination. Muggle morticians whose customers had fallen victim to the Avada Kedavra had, of course, died of natural causes. Once, a young Scottish youth had even spotted a flying car being driven/helmed by a red-haired boy, only to be disregarded as an oddly large bird with bright orange feathers.

In this particular case of Muggle denial, a teenage Russian couple spotted a flying ball of fire from the back seat of their convertible. The orange flames that licked the air behind the fireball were unmistakable. Even from their distance in the parked car, they could feel the heat being generated. It's proximity to the ground made it impossible to be just anything, and yet, not a moment after it had passed them…

"Did you see that shooting star, Vira?"

"Mmm," Vira murmured in return, "very romantic."

As the couple returned to their evening, the "shooting star" continued its steady progress towards England, and a certain memory-deficient young man.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

Almost two weeks had passed since Harry had awoken with no memory of the past seven years and already his life had fallen into a regular routine.

Each morning Harry was gently woken up by Kingsley. Madam Pomfrey had told Harry that his healing could only be expedited with lots of bed rest, so his official morning started whenever Kingsley's lunch hour was. With Kingsley's help, and to much embarrassment on the part of the raven haired boy, Harry managed to get through his morning routine. After a few days the pair managed to get him out of bed without tearing any bandages, find relief in the loo down the hall, manage a thorough shower, and get dressed.

Today was the first morning he was allowed to go through the process by himself and, despite the fact that he just _knew_ Madam Pomfrey was listening outside the door in case he needed any help, he felt rather proud about it.

"Morning," he rasped to Madam Pomfrey as he opened the bedroom door. He had only just recovered enough of his voice to communicate without the aid of the parchment and quill.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Potter?" she asked, immediately falling in next to him, as he made his painfully slow march to the loo next to the staircase. He shrugged off her attempt to help him. He wanted, no, he _needed_ to do this alone.

"I'm good, Madam Pomfrey," he replied hoarsely.

"Poppy, dear," she reminded him lightly, "you're no longer one of the pupils, you can call me by my first name. Even if you do still get injured like a first year."

"Right," he managed to mumble apologetically, "sorry."

This had happened a lot recently. For him, it had been only a few weeks since the incident on the bridge, but for everyone else it had been almost a decade. He still thought he was just a very well known sixteen year old, when actually he was closer to being twenty-four. Every time he misspoke like this was a painful reminder of the time he had lost, the experiences he'd never have, and the people he'd lost touch with. Worst of all, he still didn't even know _why_ it had all happened.

He finally disappeared into the bathroom, breathless from the exertion of walking down the hall. As the lock clicked into place, he leaned his tired weight against the hard wooden door.

He turned the shower's metallic spout to the right and felt the cold water turn from a light dripping into a steady stream down his bare arm. He straightened slowly to avoid the head rush, and walked over to the simple mirror above the sink. He gripped the sides of the porcelain sink and stared at his reflection.

Kingsley had been teaching him how to shave, not that he needed it. He had retained only a shadow of stubble even after a week of not shaving. He ran a hand down the hollows of his cheeks, feeling the hard bones that gave him such a defined jaw line. He never thought that he'd actually miss the slight baby fat from his youth, but he desperately needed something to have stayed the same.

His bandages, as _Poppy_ had informed him, were charmed to be waterproof so that he could keep them on while showering. In Harry's opinion, they were also charmed to emit some heat, as he was continuously getting hotter with each passing day. Kingsley, as the only male that knew he was still alive, had been forced to help him shower and had made him keep them on. Today, however, Kingsley was not there and Harry needed to see himself fully. The bandages required only a light bit of tugging before they came free. The mediwitch had taken great care in wrapping several thick layers of bandages, and as such it took him nearly 10 minutes to be completely free of all his wrappings. Once removed, he felt the refreshing cold air tickle his previously covered flesh.

His gaze fell to the poorly healed gash on his leg that was dominated by scar tissue. Poppy had done an excellent job on his broken femur, the hardest bone in the leg, if not the entire body; one could barely tell it had ever been snapped in half. He could still taste the bitterness from what he had jokingly dubbed the "extra-strength" skelegrow, a muggle prescription joke that had been lost entirely on the pureblood witch.

There was a long, thin scar that ran the length of his pelvis to his bellybutton that had been too old to heal. The skin above his ribs was still a mix of purple and yellow where the broken pieces of his ribcage had broken through the skin. The side of his chest that had been bandaged was covered with a sickly sheen from his burns. They told him that nearly 30% of his chest had been burned. The healing potions for the burns were showing very little signs of progress. They had assured him that the slow rate of healing was perfectly normal for burns as severe as his. He didn't bother looking at how the burns had scarred his face; he avoided the sight at all costs.

Not all of his body's changes were negative ones though. He supposed that, objectively, his body was more appealing now. Wherever he was held the past seven years, he had had plenty of time to exercise. No longer was he so pathetically thin that one could see his bones through his skin. Now he had bulk, he had muscles that were taught against his skin. Tonks had called it a "swimmers build". He wouldn't be modeling for any magazine covers but he was on his way.

His stomach held the remnants of a six pack that had slowly been disappearing over the course of his bed rest. His arms had biceps that were elongated rather than rounded. Even though he'd been sick in bed, he still had better skin color than when he was at Hogwarts. He'd even grown a foot, though Kingsley had been so kind as to confide to him that his friends were still taller than him.

Harry sighed at the thought of his friends. Would they even remember him? Had they moved on from him? Did they hate him? He hadn't brought himself to ask anyone about them yet. Harry just wasn't ready for the answers and Kingsley hadn't offered him any. Of any of the adults in his life, the only one that had tried to push him to get answers about his old life was Andromeda Tonks. The woman had taken to him faster than even Molly Weasley had. She had made it her personal mission to try and get him to ask after his old friends or anything at all. Harry had been holding back his curiosity as long as he could, but he knew his hold over his inquisitive side was breaking down with the passing of each day.

Harry finally noticed that the mirror he had been so intently looking at was filled with steam from the shower. Shaking his head he stripped the rest of his clothing away and climbed into the shower. As he scrubbed himself clean, being especially considerate of the areas previously covered by the bandages, he thought about how much his friends might have changed over the years. Had Ron and Hermione stayed together or had their bickering separated them? How many of his old classmates had been killed in the war? Who else in the Order of the Phoenix had fallen? Was Voldemort winning since Harry had been captured? What else had been done to him while in captivity?

Harry let the thoughts consume him, something that he'd been fighting against since he first awoke in the Tonks home. Once it started it wouldn't stop, and soon tears began to form in the corners of his eyes. His emotions overpowered him and then he was lost to it.

He chocked back the first sob.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

"How long has he been in there?" Andromeda Tonks asked worriedly.

"He's fine," Madam Pomfrey responded, sipping her tea, "he's just getting reacquainted with himself again."

Tonks smirked wickedly, "Once a teenager, always a teenager."

Both of the older women blushed at the young woman's crude joke.

"I _meant_," Madam Pomfrey clarified tersely, "that much of his body has changed and he needs time to deal with it."

"I'm sure he does," Tonks muttered.

"He's been through so much, the poor boy," said Andromeda, wisely choosing to ignore her daughter's comment.

"Thankfully he doesn't remember any of it," added Madam Pomfrey.

"It couldn't have been all bad," Tonks said hopefully, "I mean look at how nicely he turned out. If Remus wasn't so good in bed, I'd be seeing if Harry needed any help in there."

Andromeda, who had long since resigned herself to the fact that her daughter had the social graces of a Norwegian Ridgeback, merely chuckled at the scandalized look on Poppy's face.

"You have to remember, dearest daughter of mine," Andromeda chided lightly, "that while Harry's body may have matured, his mind has not. He's still a young man of 16 or 17 at heart."

"Whatever his age, I'm happy he's back with us." Tonks said in a unusually somber tone. "I know Remus will be pleased."

"Yes, and Teddy can finally meet his godfather," Andromeda added lightly. "I can only hope Harry's a better influence on him than his mother."

Tonks just grinned wolfishly. While Remus was always maintaining his serious nature, Tonks had redoubled her efforts to bring out the fun loving side of him. Teddy, her sweet miracle Teddy, had been blessed with the best of both of what his parents personalities had to offer. Harry would be a happy addition to their little family, and she just knew Teddy would take a shine to him. She was also looking forward to seeing Remus reunited with the godson he had been searching for since his abduction. It would be nice to see her wolf-man smile again.

"It is a mystery, though," Poppy admitted, bring Tonks back into the conversation that had gone on without her, "as to how he managed to keep in such good shape whilst being tortured. If they intended him harm, why keep him healthy?"

"Outside of the torture, you mean?"

"Of course."

"So they could make the torture last longer, of course," interrupted a new voice, startling the three witches. Tonks nearly dropped her china in surprise.

Harry stood in the small corridor that led from the sitting room to the bedrooms, still dressed only in his damp towel. He coughed a little from the effort he had made to speak.

"Oh, Harry," said a startled Andromeda, the first to recover. "We didn't mean to discuss such things behind your back…"

Harry held up a hand and smiled slightly to stop her apologies and to indicate no hard feelings. It wasn't like he hadn't thought about it every waking moment as his body healed. The women visibly relaxed.

"Why aren't you dressed, Harry?" asked Tonks.

"Did you not like the clothes we bought you?" Andromeda inquired worriedly.

"Size," was all Harry could force out of his throat, hoping that they would understand his dilemma. His earlier comment had put too much of a strain on his vocal cords.

Immediately Andromeda felt a wave of embarrassment engulf her. How could she have been so stupid? When she had gone shopping for Harry she had purchased clothes for someone the size of Harry's younger self. Of course he couldn't wear them, they were far too tight to be comfortable for someone of his new size. If only she'd had more time…

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Andromeda said, not liking this new habit of apologies, "I must have mixed up the sizes."

"It's okay, mum," said Tonks, already grabbing her wand off the table, "I can help Harry resize his wardrobe."

Poppy, having spotted the mischievous glint in Tonks' eyes, was quick to intercede. "I'll handle whatever alterations Mr. Potter needs, Nymphadora."

"Are you sure, Poppy? It's really no trouble," she said, throwing a smile in Harry's direction, "no trouble at all."

Harry blushed at Tonks' innuendo, and allowed Poppy to steer him out of the room and back down the hallway.

Andromeda was about to release her mirth over Tonks' antics when she heard Poppy cry out, "_Harry Potter!_ What have you done with your bandages _this_ time!"

Both Tonks women erupted in laughter, neither thinking to save Harry from the medicine woman's wrath.

OOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOOoooOOO

When Harry reappeared from his room, he had found that little had changed. The three older witches were still seated around the coffee table, chattering on as before. He tried not to listen in, in case he heard something he hadn't wanted to know about his missing time. Eventually though he had to make his presence known again.

"Not still talking about me I hope?" He asked, pleased that the soothing potion Pomfrey had given him in the bedroom was working. He hated hearing his voice so gravelly and sore. He was pretty sure the others appreciated its effects as well.

He fought a blush as Tonks wolf whistled at him. Thankfully, Andromeda came to his rescue.

"Really, Nymphadora," she chided her only daughter, "what would Remus say?"

"Remus?" Harry asked hopefully.

And there it was. For all his planning and his deliberate decision to take things slow when it came to news about hid old friends, he had failed. He had made it less than a minute into the conversation before asking about someone.

The women didn't seem to mind. In fact, they seemed to be a little relieved that he had asked.

"You want to know about Remus, Harry?" Tonks asked with a reassuring smile.

He knew what they were offering him. Harry could take it back; forget his need to know what had happened to those he loved. He could enjoy this break from the drama of his life for a little more. In the end though he knew he wasn't that much of a coward. It was time to face the truth of this new world he was living in.

"Yes," he answered, nodding.

"We're married," Tonks said immediately. While Harry's shock appeared to be dominating his mind, Tonks used her wand to undo the disillusionment charm on her wedding ring. "I didn't want you to see it until you were ready to ask about him."

"You and Remus? Married?"

"Way to go slow on the information train, daughter," Andromeda said wryly. Poppy giggled to herself.

"We have a son," Tonks continued, as if her mother had really been giving her permission to continue to blow the young boy's mind. "His name is Teddy, and he's just over 6 years old now."

Harry tried to picture what a child of his parent's only living friend and his slightly older Auror friend would look like. He smiled at the thought, and felt a strange warm feeling in his gut.

"Does he take after Remus?" he asked cautiously, wondering if he phrased it as politely as he could have.

"You mean does my little one become a ball of fur once a month, Harry?" she asked with a small smirk. "No, Harry, the curse is only passed genetically in extremely rare cases or if both parents are infected."

Harry breathed an internal sigh of relief at the news.

"Although," Tonks added with obvious mirth, "if he had inherited the curse, we would have named him Harry. Get it? Harry, because he's hairy."

Andromeda did not look amused, and Harry had the distinct impression that this was not the first time she had heard this particular joke about her only grandson.

"You still could have named him after me," Harry said jokingly.

"Well we thought about it," answered Tonks, "but we decided to compromise and just name you as his godfather."

"Really, Nymphadora," chided Poppy, "you could try to not give my patients so many shocks in a row."

"I could," she acknowledged shortly.

"Can I meet him?" Harry asked, still recovering from the latest bomb Tonks had dropped on him.

The women shared an uncomfortable series of looks with each other, but Tonks was at least smiling. She had always known that Remus knew what he was doing by naming the Boy-Who-Lived as godfather to her little one.

"We'll ask Minerva when she gets here, Harry," Andromeda said.

Harry let it go… for now. "Remus doesn't know I'm back, does he?"

The answer was clear on their faces, long before Tonks confirmed it for him.

"It's for the best, Harry," Poppy added. "The less people who know, the more safe we can make you until you're well enough to leave."

"Not all of us agree on that point, though," Tonks muttered to him.

Harry was about to ask more when Minerva McGonagall arrived with a slight cracking noise in the middle of the room.

"Good morning, Minerva," Andromeda greeted, standing up and offering the Headmistress her seat.

"And to you, Andy," she said with a slight smile. Harry assumed that was as a relaxed smile as anyone had ever received from his former Head of House.

Andy walked to the point of the room where Minerva had arrived and instantly disappeared with a slightly louder cracking noise.

"Where is she off to?"

"Mom's watching the little tyke while she'd off duty," answered Tonks, "so that we can hang out with you, kid."

"We're alternating rotations, Harry, so three of us will always be here," McGonagall continued to explain. "I see you've all been chatting for a bit if you've already unearthed Teddy in the conversation."

"Not as much, Tonks just decided to open with the news of my godson's existence," Harry said dryly.

Minerva looked amusedly at Tonks, "You didn't, did you?"

Tonks just nodded and sipped from her cup. Harry was positive that, had her cup not been covering her mouth, it surely would have been in a large smirk reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat from _Alice in Wonderland_.

"Would you mind excusing Harry and myself for a moment, my friends?"

Harry noted that as nicely as the question was phrased, it was hardly up for debate. Harry settled himself down at the chair across from his former transfiguration professor and waited.

Until something strange happened, something never before done by an Order member when Albus Dumbledore had been the leader, Harry was invited to ask questions.

"Would you like to know anything about the Order, Harry?" McGonagall asked him. "As I'm sure you've surmised by now, I am the new head."

"Yes, I had assumed as much," he said respectfully, trying to withhold his surprise at not only being included, but practically begged to ask questions. He was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth and immediately jumped at the opportunity. "What's Voldemort been up to?"

"I see you are as direct as ever, Harry," McGonagall replied, though not unkindly, "these should help you understand the situation with the Dark Lord better."

The Headmistress waved her hand at the table and three stacks of papers materialized in front of him. She pointed to the first stack, easily the largest, and he could see that all of the pictures he could see in the pile had a dark mark prominently featured.

"This first stack of newspapers, a mixture of The Prophet and The Quibbler, highlight the major Death Eater attacks and Ministry scrimmages over the past few years. As you can see, there have been… many."

Personally, Harry thought this was an understatement but wisely elected not to comment.

"This second pile," she pointed to the middle stack, a stack that reached half the height of the first, "is a consolidated collection of obituaries. These individuals were casualties of the war whom were associated with either side."

"It seems so short compared to the amount of attacks," Harry pointed out, unconsciously pulling away from the stack of death notices.

"The Dark Lord," she began, before Harry interrupted her.

"Voldemort."

"Excuse me?" she asked politely.

"His name is Voldemort," Harry said slowly. "Last time I checked, the Order was at least not afraid to say the bad man's name."

"Things have gotten much worse than you remember, Harry," she said sternly. Harry was distinctly reminded of her 'lecture' voice from his time as a student. "You'd do best to read through those pages before getting your hackles up at me. Titles do not only indicate fear, more often than not they show respect. While I despise that man, I have learned to respect his power."

"No offense, Professor," Harry responded, "but I doubt Albus Dumbledore would have agreed with you."

Unbeknowst to Harry, Minerva had spent her first five years as Headmistress and leader of the Order defending herself against the visage of her deceased friend. Two years ago she had been forced to end it out of pure frustration. She was not about to endure it all over again, even from Harry himself.

"Albus Dumbledore and I were friends for more years than you've been alive. Do not presume to know the man better than I. No matter how much time you two spent together before his passing."

Harry could see she was bristling, and chose to pursue the argument further… for now. He needed her to answer his questions, no matter how frustrating she made it.

"And the last pile?" he asked, changing the topic.

McGonagall leaned far back into her chair, an impressive feat given her ridiculously firm posture. She paused a moment before responding.

"That pile contains every lead or rumor we've ever had about your disappearance and whereabouts."

Harry eyed the pile greedily.

"You have Remus Lupin to thank for most of that," she added. "He refused all the other assignments I gave him, saying that someone needed to keep looking for you. I admit I had lost hope myself. I pray you can forgive me for abandoning you to the lost."

He nodded in acknowledgement.

"I know how desperate you must be for information, but I must ask you to look over the papers on your disappearance first," she instructed him. "It is of the upmost importance we discover your previous whereabouts."

"I understand," he replied, "but I honestly don't remember anything after that day on the bridge."

"Poppy concurs that the memory loss is quite severe," she acknowledged. "However, we have arranged for a few _specialists_ on the subject to have a look at you."

Harry didn't like this one bit, and she easily surmised this. "I know this may not be your favorite course of action after weeks of being poked and prodded by Madam Pomfrey, Harry, but this is important. If we can find a way to regain some of your memories, the information it leads to could be invaluable."

"I was tortured for years," he said quietly. "How is that valuable."

She was hiding something from him and Harry felt intense anger at her.

_Of course she would feed him all of this information,_ he thought bitterly._ It's not like it wasn't public record or anything. Even the information on his disappearance could have been gotten from Remus at a later date._

"What about Remus?" he asked. "And my friends? Do they know I'm alive?"

"Not yet," McGonagall answered. "For your safety we decided to keep the circle tight and play this close to the vest."

"Surely Remus, Ron, and Hermione could have been trusted."

"That one will have to wait for another conversation, Harry," she replied, "once you are fully back on your feet we can discuss whom else to include in this secret."

"You may not like the comparison, Minerva," he said dryly, "but that was very Dumbledore-esque of you."

"Thank you, Harry."

As much as Harry missed his old headmaster, he had not meant the comparison as a kindness.

"Albus left me a few penseive memories to use, including his introduction to you of the concept of a Horcrux."

Harry heard the slight uplift at the end of the sentence and realized he was supposed to respond. "Yes, and…"

"Over the years we have managed to locate some of the Dar-" she paused, not wanting to rehash the earlier argument, "some of his soul fragments. I would appreciate your help in confirming some of them."

"Anything to help destroy _Voldemort,_" he said, exaggerating the name pointedly.

"Thank you, Harry."

The conversation then turned largely social. A silent agreement had been reached by the pair to not discuss things of the war until later. Minerva had seen how Harry had slowly been becoming worn out through the conversation. Laughter from one of Minerva's stories about the new first years brought Tonks and Poppy back into the room.

Sadly, Minerva noted, the added presence of his two minders did nothing to help his fatigue. She felt compelled to intervene when he began to fidget in his seat. No matter the slight hostility from the earlier conversation, Minerva McGonagall had always protected the Gryffindor cubs in her care.

"Are you tired, Harry?" she asked kindly. "Would you rather save the conversation for tomorrow?"

Harry thought about throwing in the towel and taking up her offer, but he had been starved for human contact for too long. He wasn't so much tired, as really warm, and the candles on the table were doing nothing to alleviate it. His body never stopped aching for the cool of his sheets though.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to sound convincing. "Really."

Minerva chose not to press him on it, and the conversation continued in its casual manner. However, all three women noted that Harry was becoming less and less of a contributor in it.

For his part Harry tried to concentrate on the conversation going on around him. The unbearable heat of the room was quickly dominating his attention, and he found it more and more difficult to keep up.

He could hear the voices of the women but could barely make out what they were trying to tell him. He felt horrible for his lack of attention on a subject he had asked them to talk to him about. It wasn't that he didn't care about what his friends were up to, the damage the Death Eaters had accomplished in his absence, or the attempt of the Order to minimize their opponent's success. It's just that it was so _hot_.

He wiped the back of his hand across his brow and was surprised when it didn't return completely drenched in sweat. It felt like his forehead was crying sweat as he perspired. He sensed the pressure on his arm as Tonks put a questioning hand to him. Tonks was asking him something and she sounded concerned but he couldn't remember the question.

"It's a little warm in here, isn't it?" he muttered, pulling his arm free of Tonks' hand. It was simply too hot for the added humidity that accompanied the human body heat. Her gesture, while kind in nature, was like adding hot coals to his skin. He could sense that all three women were looking at him oddly.

In spite of his rising concern he was tired of being coddled. He had spent the last month bedridden and forced to depend on these very people. He was grateful for their caring, but just too tired to deal with it any longer. He pulled at the tight collar of his shirt to release the steam that surely must have been wafting off of him before repeating himself.

"Well," he demanded defensively, "it is HOT in here, isn't it?"

He was suddenly reminded of his fifth year all over again, and it made him distinctly uncomfortable. He had had no control over the moodiness of his mind and body. Worse he was forced to see how it frustrated and hurt those around him, and yet he couldn't bring himself to stop said behavior. The women's gazes and his own erratic behavior was just eerily similar for his taste.

Minerva muttered something and began casting spells around the small table and chairs. At first Harry was wondering what she was doing, and then he felt the blessed cold of a cooling charm. This, of course, barely lasted all of 10 seconds before the heat began to assault his body once more.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_ he mentally asked himself, now confirming that something was off with him. Cooling charms from even the weakest of wand wielding witches and wizards lasted at least a half an hour at a time. For a witch of Minerva McGonagall's exalted talents and power, the charm should have lasted a full week even if left alone. Some of his shock and concern over this realization must have shown on his face as all three women now had their wands out.

Unbeknownst to Harry, Poppy began casting diagnostic spells on her most injury-prone patient. She was shocked to detect that his body temperature was at a boiling 108 degrees. Muggles body temperature was considered normal at 98.6 degrees, and a fever of 105 degrees meant running the risk of a coma or death. Wizards, as usual, could go a bit further than Muggles when it came to health limitations. Still, even for a Wizard, a temperature of 108 degrees was nothing to scoff at. A bad omen indeed. Poppy quickly shared her findings with the other two women before deciding what to do.

"I just cast a cooling charm on him, Poppy," claimed Minerva.

"Let me try," offered Tonks, already aiming her wand and squinting one eye. Poppy used her non-wand hand to push the eager Aurors' down.

"If you don't mind," chided the mediwitch, "_I'll_ be the one treating my patient. _Frigidus Persona!"_

Harry, who had been furiously wiping his damp hair and face of sweat, felt a brief calming sensation come over him almost immediately. Poppy checked him again with her diagnostic spells before breathing a sigh of relief. Despite the fact that Harry looked near to unconscious, Poppy felt confident that he would recover just fine.

"Let's get Mr. Potter back to bed please," Poppy said, already mentally preparing a list of medical texts to consult once he was settled.

As Harry could not make it back to bed on his own, and Tonks still wanted to feel useful after Poppy's early comment, she levitated him down the hall to his bedroom.

Once they had disappeared into the guest room Minerva leaned over to her long time friend and colleague.

"What was that, Poppy?"

"I'm not entirely sure, Minerva," Poppy replied honestly. "I can only guess. I know it's not naturally occurring. That leaves spell, curse, or potion; ones my scans must have missed."

"Are you sure?"

"To the best of my abilities," Poppy explained. "If it had been a reaction to infection or a normal fever spike than my detection spells would have alerted me immediately. The stasis spells alone would have eliminated any infections long before showing such extreme symptoms the likes of which we just witnessed."

"I've never heard of something like that that would also bypass a medical scan," Minerva pondered. "Especially one of yours, Poppy."

"It must have been time delayed. We can ask Tonks about it once Harry is settled. They cover those in Auror Training more than in most medical institutions."

"What would it wait for? His escape?" Minerva theorized.

"That would make sense, and it sounds like a Death Eater tactic," Poppy said in agreement. "Kills the captive if they escape for a certain amount of time."

"So it would have killed him?"

"If he hadn't been around a witch or wizard with a working knowledge of temperature spells, than yes. He would have overcooked his own body."

"Surely they must have anticipated he would find him way to a magical person though. Why choose something so easily countered?"

Poppy decided to be as honest as possible with her friend, "Most likely because that is not the only parting gift they left him with. I only wish the next will be as easily countered."

"We should make sure he's not alone until all this has passed," Minerva concluded.

"POPPY!!!"

Both women started at the terrified scream of the young Auror. While each of them was more than twice the age of young Nymphadora, neither woman was slow in their response. Wands drawn they barreled down the hallway that housed the living quarters of the Tonks home.

As they charged into the room, they were immediately propelled backwards against the hallway wall by a violent force and a bright flash of light.

_Moments before…_

Tonks had only just taken the levitation spell off of her young friend when he began to moan again.

"Harry?" she asked tentatively. More moaning was her only response.

She put a hand to his forehead only to pull it back a millisecond later covered in a thick layer of sweat. Indeed, there was a bright sheen to Harry's skin from the lamp's glow at his bedside table. His shirt clung tightly to his body as if it were being super glued by the perspiration.

Tonks wiped her damp hand on the bed sheet beside him and again placed her hand on his forehead. The skin beneath surged with heat and wide pulsing veins. As she continued to hold his head, he began to become more listless.

Beneath her hand, Harry felt as if he were locked in a steam room and dressed in full Eskimo winter gear. The additional weight and heat of Tonks' hands were not helping that feeling loosen. Suddenly the heat was building to the point that it would be unbearable. And then said point was reached…

Harry shot up in the bed violently flung his arms out, pushing Tonks and her offending arms away from him. He never registered the tightened expression on Tonks' face. In fact he never even registered her presence in the same room as him. His focus changed to the other factor in his heat problem: his clothing. He began to pull and grip his clinging t-shirt. A few moments and a few satisfying tearing sounds later, and cool air rushed at his bare top. The heat quelled for a moment before renewing its fight for insufferable dominance.

_Not enough!_ his brain screamed in frustration. He began to tug and scramble to get the rest of his clothes off himself. He needed to breathe.

Tonks cried out for Poppy as Harry was left in only his boxers. She was about to try and cover him in the still damp towel from his earlier shower when a bright light erupted from outside the bedroom window. She turned to the open window and saw a large light in the distance. She sucked in a startled breath.

Flying over the rooftops of her neighborhood was a bright flying ball of orange flames. Tonks had enough time to experience her surprise before realizing the course of the flames and its intended destination: her home. She grabbed a now fully disrobed Harry Boy-Who-Lived and flung them both to the ground as the fireball struck the bedroom wall.

Minerva and Poppy, who had just reached the bedroom door, were thrown backwards by the concussive force of the collision.

To Tonks' eternal surprise and horror, the fireball followed her and Harry to floor. Before she could so much as cry out in warning, Tonks was forced to witness the single most terrifying experience of her young life. She watched Harry Potter be engulfed in flames.

The experience for Harry, of course, was far more terrifying. After all, he was the one being assaulted by the fireball. In his mind, it was as if he watched the flames come at him in slow motion.

He could hear the crackle of the flames as they ball hovered over him. The fireball changed form and turned into a coffin, _his_ coffin, of flames. This new formation charged his fallen body and surrounded it, mere inches off his own body, it melded to his own sprawled form.

But the flames did not touch him.

Like the Siren's Song from mythology, it felt as if the flames were trying to seduce him into touching them. Somewhere deep inside his mind, a voice promised eternal pleasure and ecstasy if he but reached out and stroked a single flame.

Unlike the heat that had plagued him only moments before, this felt like a jet of cool air rushing over his bare body. The air the flickered between the magical flames kissed his flesh lovingly. His body hummed in relief and goose bumps erupted across his flesh. It was undoubtedly the single most sensual experience yet in his young life.

He decided he wanted more.

Just before he could flex his finger into reaching out for a piece of the fireball, he was interrupted. The flames exploded towards the ceiling and the pleasure vanished, and rational fear returned.

Minerva and Poppy, recovered from their earlier altercation with the wall, had aimed identical banishing charms at the flames. They had tried water conjuring spells to douse the flames, and failed. Their freezing charms, famous for their use during the Witch Hunts of American history, were of equal ineptitude against the flames. In a fit of frustration and desperation Minerva managed to move some of the flames with a banishing charm. Thus, their combined efforts succeeded in removing the flames from their young charge.

Unfortunately, the flames were forced into the ceiling by the power of their spells and the room burst into fire.

The flames raged as if conscious of their loss of prey. It seemed that the fire was determined to punish the women for their interference by consuming their entire house. The quarter was forced to retreat quickly as the room was falling apart by the seconds. Poppy led the way back to the living room as Tonks pulled a surprisingly unhurt Boy-Who-Lived. Minerva continued to push the pursuing flames back with banishing charms, but was quickly tiring from the effort required.

While Harry was not anxious to have any more experiences with fire _ever_, he did not complain as he was steered towards the Floo. Poppy grabbed a handful of Floo powder and shouted "Wolf's Den!" before disappearing in a burst of green flame. Tonks nodded for him to follow the Mediwitch's example. Some powder fell through his fingers, but he managed to hold on to enough to make the Floo journey.

Minerva was now quickly losing ground to the flames, and Tonks rushed over to aide her. Harry made to step out of the Floo and help but Tonks shouted back to him in a fit of anger. He wisely chose to get back into the Floo and, at the top of his voice, clearly stated, "The Wolf's Den" before his world spun.

When his world righted again he found himself planted face first on a cool hardwood floor. He heard Poppy talking to someone and then a sharp intake of breath as the pair entered the room.

"Harry?" a strangled voice asked from somewhere above him.

Harry, suddenly conscious of the fact that he was completely naked, looked up and stared in shock.

"Remus?"


End file.
